The Basterds' Black Book
by eveningthought
Summary: Ellis de Vries is a Dutch Jew who has been sent by the Resistance into Nazi Occupied France. Once she meets her new American contacts however things become a lot more complicated, and as the war draws to a close, a lot more dangerous.
1. Rachel Stein & Ellis de Vries

The inspiration for this fanfic is the movie Inglourious Basterds, the Dutch movie Zwartboek (also known as Black Book) and my own recent visit to the Dutch Resistance Museum. For those of you who haven't seen Zwartboek, (you really should, its fantastic!) don't worry, I'll make sure you know everything you need to know, and if you feel confused just let me know in a review (I'll accept questions without actual reviews if you want) and I'll clarify any issues.

Understandably, as I am melding together two great films a lot of things are going to be different, so please don't bash me for that. If its crap, then you can bash me as much as you want.

I own none of these characters or stories, they belong to their respective owners and this is merely a fun tribute from me. No money is being made and no disrespect is intended. Please enjoy

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It was a gloomy September afternoon when she arrived in Paris. The clouds were gray and left no room for the sunlight or any trace of blue sky to be seen. She hated such long train journeys, especially when she was by herself with no one else to talk to. It left her too much time to think, and these days thinking meant remembering. She clutched the diamond shaped locket draped around her neck tightly, her mind unwillingly reminded of the three happy faces in the pictures held inside of it. A distinguished looking father, a mother who had been glamorous in her youth, and a young man with a warm smile who was a little over 21 years old.

The photograph they had been taken from had also contained a young woman. She was beautiful, with a flirtatious nature that nearly always came across in photographs even when she didn't mean it to, and which had always irritated her parents.

Not that any of that mattered now. None of these people even existed anymore.

The young woman who had been in the photograph, Rachel Stein, was buried somewhere in a secret mass grave for Jews near the Dutch/Belgian border for all anyone knew. That was where the rest of her family was anyway, and according to records Rachel was there too. But she wasn't, at least not physically.

Rachel had managed to get herself and her friend Rob on to a boat bringing Jews secretly into Belgium. The Resistance had arrived at just the right time to warn them to leave Holland for good and had arranged the whole thing. What she hadn't expected was to find the family she hadn't seen in more than 2 years waiting for her at the docks. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw them. She ran to them immediately, Rob trailing behind her, and embraced them all. Instead of crying with happiness at seeing them, all she could feel was a giddy lightness, and above all the belief that everything would finally be all right. She had forgotten how to feel that way for so long.

But everything wasn't all right in the end. Just over an hour later, Rachel lay hidden among the reeds in the freezing cold water, watching a troupe of Germans who had discovered their escape drag bodies from the water and rifle though their belongings and even the clothes they wore in order to take anything valuable for themselves. Her family were amongst those bodies. At the rivers edge the commanding officer lit up a cigarette casually, as if it was all rather boring for him. His lighter briefly made his face visible to her. That face would forever been burned into her mind, as if she was an animal branded by a master. He had taken her family, and now any memories she might have had of them would be marred by his malignant image.

After that Rachel Stein had ceased to exist. She was no longer allowed to exist. In her place soon appeared Ellis de Vries, the ex-cabaret singer turned secretary in the German headquarters in Amsterdam. The Resistance counted on her to relay the every move of the German command to them daily, and she was more than willing to. Whatever she could do to punish the Germans she would. ß

The train suddenly came to a stop, waking her from her unhappy trance. She was finally in Paris after travelling all the way from Amsterdam. Looking down, she saw that her hands were clenched tightly. She opened them, stretching her stiffened fingers. There were deep indents in her palms from her nails. She wasted no time now, wanting to avoid any lingering thoughts that may still be in her head, and pulled down her bags from the overhead baggage rail. The little old French woman who had been sharing the compartment with her in silence had already left by the time she had gathered all her things together.

She stepped out of the train, making sure that most of the other passengers left before her. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to do this, after all she didn't look particularly suspicious and she wasn't carrying anything suspect, but she still felt more at ease seeing everyone else pass through the barriers and by the German guards checking papers before her. So far no one had aroused any suspicion, hopefully no one would get the Jerries backs up before she could make it through.

"Papers, madam," one the German guards asked her in French. He looked extremely young. It would be easy for her to make it past him, young men were always so much more eager to please ladies.

"Mademoiselle, mein Herr," she chimed, handing over her well-made fake documents to him. "I know much better than to be married". She spoke in German, knowing it would only ingratiate her more with him.

"Oh," he said, blushing slightly. He only glanced fleetingly at her papers. "My apologies. Um… what is your business in France, Miss du Vries?"

"I have a job singing at a place called Bobino in Montparnasse," she replied, trying to sound as pleased with herself as she thought she should be. She handed him the letter the manager of the Bobino had sent as proof of the job.

"Oh, very nice," he smiled now. "Maybe now we'll hear some German songs in Paris without a French accent. You must be very good if they wanted you to come all the way from the Netherlands."

"I'm all right," she said coyly. "But you should certainly come by tell me how my accent is."

"I will," he nodded enthusiastically, handing back her papers to her and signalling that she could move along now. "I will make sure to come and listen."

She thanked him politely and moved out of the train station. That had been easy enough; she hadn't even had to flirt that much to get by

Not long after she had arrived at her rented room in Montparnasse. It was small and very basic, but it was clean and enough room for her things. Sitting down on the bed at last she ran over the details of the plan in her head.

She had been sent by Gerben Kuipers, the leader of the Dutch Resistance to Paris in order to be there eyes and ears there, and their liaison with the French resistance. Also she was to keep them informed of the Allies progress in France, their only hope of ending the German Occupation of both countries. With her job at the club she would be able to mingle with the Germans and hopefully some of the high ranking officers in order to track their movements also. She had been able to charm the Germans in Holland; the ones in France were her next target.

But there had also been a last minute change in the plans. Kuipers had been informed of a group of American soldiers who had been terrorising the German occupiers in France. The Jerries had managed to keep their existence mostly secret from the people they occupied, but the Resistance knew now and fully intended to work alongside these so-called Basterds. According to the plan Ellis would head down to the Café Molière at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning and sit in a booth at the back of the café. There she would meet with one of these Basterds and be brought to meet the rest of them. Hopefully this would mark the beginning of a very fruitful collaboration between them at the expense of some Nazis.

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Well, there you go! I know it was Basterd-less but don't you worry, they are on their way in Chapter 2. I just wanted to introduce Ellis to non-Zwartboek fans and explain about her past and who she is. She and Shoshanna are certainly alike anyway, so hopefully you'll like her:-) Thank you for reading and do come again!


	2. Paris When it Doesn't Sizzle

Thanks to anyone who reviewed my first chapter, you're encouragement calmed my nerves about writing this story a bit:) This chapter came out a lot longer but it has plenty of Wicki for you to enjoy.

Once again nothing belongs to me, except the old lady in this chapter, and I don't even really want her.

Thanks to Bar for her very kind Dutch translations:) I now know some good swears in Dutch, very educational!

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The next day Paris was a little bit sunnier than when she had arrived. Although, it still looked dull under the cloudy skies above. It seemed like such a pity to Ellis. She had always wanted to go to Paris; it seemed glamorous and romantic, full of bohemian life and no shortage of clubs and bars in which to sing (and drink of course).

But that was before the war of course. Back when she was Rachel and no one had a problem with that. In those days she sang at some of Holland's most fashionable clubs and lived truly the wild child existence. She even managed to make a name for herself in some of Berlin's cabarets. Singers, dancers, comedians, magicians, chorus girls, strippers, homos, actors and even the occasional hooker had been her friends in those days. Most nights were spent drinking and dancing, although seedier practices often soon followed. She had never been a tramp or even that debauched, but in those days it was much easier to throw caution to the wind and behave as badly as you wanted.

Nowadays, throwing caution to the wind wasn't an option –for anyone.

It hadn't been the bad boyfriends, or the disapproving glances from her neighbours she got when she stumbled home in the early morning much worse for wear that had driven her back home. She had never given a shit about those things. But things got stricter and more conservative over the years with the emergence of that ugly hate-filled little Austrian. Business dried up gradually and then all but stopped completely. Nothing left but some debts she couldn't pay and some outfits she couldn't be caught in anymore, she went home. It only got worse from then on.

So it was no surprise to her that Paris was a disappointment. Like home people rooted through rubbish for anything valuable or at least something to eat, the streets were dirty and there were German blockades, German signposts and most of all German soldiers and officers everywhere. It was surprising how much they blended into the scene now, like post boxes or lamps. You knew and expected them to be there. They were just ugly furniture, not even that scary anymore. Or maybe everyone was just so used to being scared now that it didn't even matter.

But it mattered to her, now more than ever. Finding the café was simple enough; it was along a row of shops and some other cafés with the word Molière written in elaborate lettering on a dirty plaque above the door. Maybe it had been a charming little establishment once upon a time? Or maybe it had always looked like shit? At least it didn't look like a place where officers would take their tea. But the Gestapo… Well, they weren't really fussy about such matters. The Gestapo would be her main worry for now.

Stepping inside she was surprised at how clean and friendly it actually looked. An old man and woman worked slowly behind the counter, the old lady singing tunelessly in French to herself as she wiped the countertop. There were only a few other patrons this morning, a shabby looking man who looked half asleep as he stared at an empty bottle in front of him, a couple of gossiping women talking very quickly to each other and two German soldiers drinking coffee and laughing at a table by the window. No one took the slightest bit of notice of her.

As planned she sat in a booth at the back of the café, choosing the one farthest from the soldiers. Now sitting she opened up her compact mirror in order to appear just as nonchalant and self-absorbed as she could. This wasn't difficult anyway; she had had years of practice. The little old lady soon pottered over to her with a friendly smile, which clearly disguised her pain in walking.

"And what would you like, young lady?" she asked in a surprisingly husky French voice.

"Just some coffee, Madam, if you please", Ellis replied politely in the best French she could muster. She had been practicing, but it wasn't easy.

The old lady nodded and hobbled off gingerly. Ellis felt a bit sorry for her. It can't be easy being a shadow of your former self, she thought.

She realised then just how condescending that sounded, and hypocritical as well. She knew only to well what it was like, and the strange thing was that it was in fact very easy to be a shadow of your former self.

Breaking from her thoughts again, she pulled out a newspaper from her bag. What better to look preoccupied with than a newspaper? It was entirely in French and so she could only piece the articles together after a couple of readings, but it wasn't hard to get the general message: "Hello, we're the Germans. Have you bent over yet?"

The old woman returned a few minutes later with a tray and placed it in front of Ellis. Ellis thanked her, and began to pour some coffee into her cup before she noticed that the old woman was still standing there.

"Madam?" she asked. Trying not to sound annoyed or unnerved by her.

"You're not French, are you?" the old lady asked her, still husky voiced.

"No," replied Ellis, trying to smile as nicely as she could. Surely this woman wasn't so old as to not know that rule number one these days was don't talk to strangers, and most certainly DO NOT ask questions, especially in regards to foreigners. The less everyone knew about everything, the better. "I'm from the Netherlands. I'm singing at the Bobino."

"Ah, so you are the new Bobino girl!" the old woman exclaimed, giving a wily smile. "You are pretty enough anyway. Forgive me, but aren't you a little old to be working in clubs? You look about thirty."

Ellis stared at her, a little shocked. She wasn't thirty. She was 27 years old. Thirty was still a good bit off for her. And truthfully yes, the club scene didn't have many 27 year olds, but she couldn't look so out of place, could she? Her thoughts immediately went to the young German guard yesterday: The one who had referred to her as 'Madam' instead of 'Mademoiselle". She cringed. Hang all the pretences: this was painful.

"Oh well," the old lady chimed before a stunned Ellis could respond. "I suppose that must mean you are very, very talented to get such work. And pretty enough too."

And with that she hobbled away and back to her work at the counter.

Rancid horrid old hag! Ellis fumed inside, turning back to the newspaper, trying to hide her own disgust. Stupid old cow. Mean old bitch. Old, old, old!

"Krijg de tering. Je kan niet eens lopen" (Fuck you. You can't even walk)," she muttered under her breath in Dutch. She felt agitated now. Her pride was wounded and she had very little else but her pride these days. How was she supposed to act to nonchalant now? Well, if the Gestapo did take her now and ask why she's acting so tense at least she has a good excuse.

She was reading her paper, or at least trying to when a voice came from nearby.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice spoke in German. "But are you the singer Ellis de Vries?" It was her contact. He was here. She hadn't even heard him enter in her fury. They had each been told what to say, their first conversation written for them in order to make sure they knew exactly to whom they were talking.

"Why, yes I am", she replied. Looking up with a smile at a man dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking officer. It was time to put on the act. He was the admiring officer and she was a charming singer. It was time to act like the indulged, flirtatious singer. God knows she was good at that.

"Forgive my intrusion, Miss de Vries," the man continued, sounding suitably formal. "But I heard you performing once at a party in Amsterdam and I am quite the fan."

"Thank you," she beamed, making sure anyone who looked would think nothing more than silly, hopeless flirt. "Lucky for you now we're both in Paris. But tell me, did have a favourite song? I'll perform it at the Bobino if you like."

This was the deal breaker. She had sung at several Nazi gatherings in Amsterdam and she had sung many of their German songs. It was possible that this man had been an admirer of hers and not her contact after all. That would be a fatal mistake to make. He had to give her the correct answer here in order to proceed.

"Well, it's hard to choose," he answered her. "But two which I particularly enjoyed were _Die Fesche Lola _and _Das ist Meine Melodie._"

She gave a knowing grin to the man. "Good choices. Some of my favourites."

"May I join you, Miss de Vries?" he gestured to the empty space opposite her in the booth.

"Sir, I absolutely insist," she replied, moving the coffee pot to the side of the table, in order not to obscure the view. Formalities were over. It was business time now. She was going to meet these infamous Basterds. But first they had to finish the coffee for appearances sake. Their clandestine discussions would have to look like charming banter to the outside world. But they both knew the drill here.

"You' re name?" she asked him, in a hushed voice. Fortunately for both of them whispers gave off the right impression and couldn't be heard by their neighbours in the café.

"Wicki," he replied. "Wilhelm Wicki. You're German's pretty good."

"It has to be," she shrugged. "Unfortunately we Dutch have to learn to speak several languages simply because no one bothers learning ours. And German is essential these days, it seems"

"Do you speak French?"

"Not very well, but I get by."

"And your English? Most of our group are American."

"My English is rusty," she admitted. "But I can speak it well enough. I'll get to practice now anyway."

"Why were you on edge when I first arrived," he continued. "Do you suspect the Gestapo is here?" Wicki eyed the two Germans at the window briefly. They were laughing loudly, they didn't appear to be observing them.

"I don't think so somehow," Ellis gave the same two soldiers a sceptical look. "Its not that. The old hag behind the counter was just asking me questions."

"Questions?" Wicki's voice sounded concerned. If she asked the right questions they were in trouble.

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "She just wanted to know if I was thirty."

"Really?" he sounded surprised.

"Good response, thank you."

"That's Parisians for you," he shrugged.

"And what about this group of yours?" she enquired. "What am I getting myself into?"

"What have you been told?"

"You're Americans, except one of you is Austrian and another is an ex-Nazi soldier. You go around killing groups of Nazis and the Reich is very careful to make sure very few people know about you."

"You know all you need to know then," he answered flatly. It was better if she didn't know too much about them yet. She may be Dutch Resistance, but she was still a stranger to them.

"No, I don't," she responded, her voice dangerously sweet as the old lady walked slowly past them to clear a neighbouring table. "Any information I manage to get is passed on to you as well as the Resistance. We have to be equals."

Wicki sighed. It was only fair. It was unbelievably stupid, but still fair. He would tell her enough to satisfy any of her doubts but no more than that. This meeting had to run smoothly for both of their sakes, and there was very little time.

"Fine," he began. "We are a special unit commissioned by the OS charged with infiltrating German occupied territory and spreading fear and uncertainty among their ranks. When we get our hands on Germans, well let's just hope you don't get to see the mess we make, Miss de Vries. It's unpleasant and highly effective. One soldier gets to live each time and we make sure he's never able to forget he was a Nazi." It was just more information that any German could have told her, nothing that could cause any trouble.

She stayed silent for a moment, considering Wicki's story. He was unable to read her expression right now. Her sweet façade was no longer there; instead there was something a little more thoughtful… or wary, perhaps?

"Suitably vague," she finally said, looking down at her now empty cup. "I suppose it will do for now. I just have one question."

"What's that?" he asked.

"You're a small enough group," she said matter-of-factly. "I understand that's for stealth. But this is an American team, how did an Austrian get on it?"

"I'm an American citizen," he retorted.

"With a European background. From Austria, no less. They have thousands of soldiers for this kind of job. How did you get it?"

"I speak German."

"But you're still Austrian," she repeated. "Weren't the others even a little wary about you?'

He didn't like how this conversation had turned around. She was a spy; she was allowed to be suspicious. But surely she knew better than to push it with a potential ally.

"Why do you need to know?" he asked her.

"I don't," she shrugged. "I like to be clear, though. And quite frankly nothing you've told be so far is very clear. I want to know whom I'm dealing with because frankly I'm on my own here. You tell me or you don't, that's fine. My options are limited anyway."

Wicki considered what she said. There was something in fact, and that something wasn't even a secret, but old habits die hard. For years now he had become used to lying about being a Jew. He didn't have to hide it anymore, it was widely known in fact. Hell, it had even been in the job description.

"We're Jews," he muttered, careful no one else heard. "You'd have found that out soon anyway. And this isn't about frightening Nazis, it's about punishing them."

Her face went white. He was almost taken aback by her expression on her face. At first it seemed almost scared, but he could see it was more pained than that. If she had issues with Jews, this was not going to work out. He had been worried about this.

"I didn't think that would be a problem, Miss de Vries," his voice seemed more annoyed now.

"Its not," she snapped back to reality, realising that she was still in the café and there was a pretence that had to be kept up. "It's just…" She didn't know if she should say it. She knew better. She had seen what happens to people like them. But surely amongst other Jews there would be safety to it.

"It's just… we have more in common than I thought."

He looked at her with the same bewildered look he had when she told him about the old lady asking her about her age. He looked at her blue eyes and blond hair. Stranger things have happened, he knew, but this made him sceptical.

"You?" he asked, his disbelief audible. She merely nodded in response. She kept up her act, but she couldn't but help feel a little shaken. The room around her felt more sinister now that someone knew.

"You don't look it," he admitted, taking in her appearance again.

"My eyes were luck," she shrugged, "My hair is dyed. Badly, if I might add. But men don't really noticed things like that."

Wicki just nodded, still a little bewildered. Of course it made perfect sense to look as non-Jewish as you could in these troubled times, especially in her line of work. Still, it was unexpected.

"How did you get out?" she asked him, not feeling comfortable or confidant enough to look at him very much.

"I got out early," he replied. This was no longer a professional conversation for either of them. "I had a feeling it was only going to get worse for us until Hitler came up with his 'Final Solution'. I tried to tell them but no one believed it. I don't blame them really…"

"Your family?" she asked, lighting herself a cigarette. She convinced herself that this would help keep up her charade a little longer.

"My parents…everyone… I don't know."

"Do you think they're dead?" It was a tactless question of course, but she asked it anyway.

"I think so," he didn't display much emotion. "Your family?"

"I know they're dead," she replied.

"I'm sorry."

"Everyone who shouldn't be sorry is sorry," she sighed and looked at him again. His face was grim. "I don't even feel it really. I know it happened but I don't feel like it did. I've never even really cried about it because it's too much like a nightmare to be real." Her voice was surprisingly unemotional, as if she was more surprised than upset with herself.

"You have hope, though?" she said to him.

"Not a lot. I know better."

They didn't speak for a few minutes. No one in the café seemed to be paying much attention to them anyway. Fairly soon the two German soldiers had left and several young girls had swarmed in instead.

"We should go now," Wicki said, noticing they had been there far too long. "We have to get outside the city to meet my unit."

Ellis nodded. She seemed to shake herself out of her stupor quickly and regain her nonchalant appearance. Leaving the money on the table (without a tip) she picked up her bag and followed Wicki out of the Café, linking her arm in his to complete the illusion.

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Voila, chapter 2:) I hope you enjoyed it, and it was too long or anything. Its a little dialogue heavy, but dialogue is my favourite (and the hardest) thing to do so I got a bit over zealous maybe. Please review this, as I would like to know what I have to improve. Don't feel the need to write just positive stuff to be polite. Kindly phrased criticism is also welcome. Unkindly phrased criticism however is not, so be fair I'm no pro this is all for fun.


	3. Mata Hari with bigger eyebrows

First of thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed the story! You've all been so lovely and encouraging, that it's really spurred me on. I honestly didn't think anyone was really going to go for this idea at all, but lucky for me, I was wrong. Thanks:)

Secondly, it was pointed out to me by a very nice Dutch reader that I was spelling Ellis' name wrong. Instead of du Vries, its actually spelt de Vries. The subtitles that lied to on this matter have been subsequently punished for being shit. From now on I will be spelling it the correct way, but I'm currently not able to change the previous chapters. Apologies for being silly.

Once again, I own none of these characters or even most of the events. I will take responsibility however, for all the Great Garbo comments...

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The small back alleys down which Wicki was leading her were certainly not what Ellis had in mind. He was dressed as a high-ranking German officer and yet was skulking around the back streets like a criminal, surely that was more suspicious for them both. Whatever people they came across either eyed them with curiosity or quickly averted their gaze from the fake Officer, not wanting any trouble. Ellis' arm was still linked to his, not wanting to let up the charade just yet for safety's sake.

Eventually after several minutes of walking down dingy, dark streets they came to a small square. The square was like a ghost town. Any shops or business that might have been there were gone, and from the looks of it gone long ago. The buildings were in awful shape, some on the verge of crumbling even. In the centre there was a dilapidated fountain, clearly long out of use. A stale, unidentifiable smell hung in the air.

"Don't worry about the Germans here," Wicki said, noting her apparent disgust with the place. "Or anyone. Its basically empty, except for some squatters."

"Is there where we meet your friends?" she asked, not looking forward to the prospect very much now, especially considering the smell.

"You'll be glad to hear it's not," he replied. "Just around that corner is a truck to take us to the rendez-vous. One of the men is there to do the driving."

"What's his name?"

"Private Ulmer. But he'll probably let you call him Omar."

She nodded, making note of the name. They began walking to the corner, arms no longer linked. The cobblestones made a dull echoing noise in the square as she stepped on them no matter how lightly she tried to tread. The sound made her feel uneasy, as if any second someone could jump out of the shadows. She just wanted to get out of this creepy, God-forsaken place.

Sure enough once they were around the corner the truck was there. Standing outside of it, hands in pockets and kicking at stones on the ground was another soldier dressed in a Nazi uniform, presumably the aforementioned Omar Ulmer. He didn't notice them come around the corner, completely lost in his own thoughts.

"Hey, Omar," Wicki called him to get his attention, moving closer. Ellis stayed behind Wicki, still feeling wary about the area they were in. Omar's head snapped up to his friends, suddenly back on earth again.

"Wicki," he exclaimed, pronouncing his name with a soft English 'W' instead of a German 'V' sound. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I was starting to get nervous."

"Yeah, you looked really nervous," Wicki smirked. It was the first time she heard him speak English. He spoke without much hint of an accent, she thought, clearly at ease with the language. That would only make her rusty English pronunciation sound even worse.

"Yeah, yeah smirk all you want," Omar retorted mockingly. "You were still the late one."

"Well, our contact wanted to be fashionably late," Wicki stepped aside and gestured towards Ellis. "Omar, this is Ellis de Vries our Dutch contact."

"Pleased to meet you," she said moving forward and shaking his hand. Her greeting had meant to sound informal, but somehow it ended up sounding unnatural to her, like she had read it aloud instead of just saying it genuinely.

"Private Ulmer, at your service ma'am," he replied, shaking her out-stretched hand with a smile. "But you can call me Omar."

"Then you can call me Ellis," she nodded with a smile. He seemed like a nice man, it was hard to believe he went around killing groups of Nazis. It was hard to conceive he would kill anyone.

"Great accent," he chimed, before looking over at Wicki. "Man, I thought Dutch people sounded like Germans, but their accent is way better. Stiglitz sounds like a mule next to this."

"Omar…" Wicki began, trying to interrupt Omar, who was still shaking Ellis' hand.

"I've got a question," Omar turned back to her. "Do you people prefer it when people say Holland or the Netherlands, because I'm never sure what to say?"

"Well, technically Holland is just a part of the Netherlands…" she told him, a bit bewildered by his sudden informality and the randomness of the question.

"Oh, I see," he nodded thoughtfully. "It's like a state then."

"I don't really understand what you mean…"

"And I heard you've got great cheese in Holland too," he continued to talk. "Sorry, I mean the Netherlands. I've never been the biggest cheese guy myself, but your stuff is meant to be pretty good."

"Omar," Wicki called him again, only to be further ignored.

"And windmills!" Omar suddenly exclaimed. "Now there's something I'd like to see. It's them and those dykes that are real famous, isn't it? That's what they're called, isn't it? Dykes?"

"Yes," she replied, "But I'm not sure what…"

"Oh no, hang on!" Omar interrupted her again. "What about those wooden shoe things? Are they real? And are they more of an indoor or an outdoor shoe kind of thing?"

"Omar," Wicki finally stepped in between him and Ellis. "I think it's time you stop listing national stereotypes and start driving the truck. We're already late as it is."

"Right, right!" Omar conceded, moving swiftly around the truck to get to the drivers seat. Wicki rolled his eyes before giving her an apologetic look. She just laughed it off; actually glad to see his face didn't appear as grim as before.

"He hasn't been around too many women for a while, has he?" she asked Wicki.

"We try our best to keep it that way," Wicki shrugged, only smiling a small bit. "For his own protection more than anything."

"He seems nice… " she replied. "…And talkative anyway."

"We'll see how you feel after a car journey with him."

The three of them sat in the front of the truck, Ellis in the middle. They travelled further down a pothole filled road just off the square for a few minutes. The unevenness of the road jostled them around before they managed to get to the Basterds' 'secret' way out of the city. Namely driving through an old graveyard and through a field full of sheep before reaching the actual road. It was a bumpy journey but it meant that they avoided the checkpoints and that was good enough for them. Throughout their journey Omar talked near incessantly, much to Ellis amusement. While he did go on quite a bit and would make strange comments, she found him quite endearing. She had presumed that all of these Basterds would be like Wicki, nice but rather stoic and serious. But perhaps that was just Wicki's German upbringing?

"You're Jewish," Omar exclaimed as they drove along the fields. "I would have never said that. Kudos on disguising yourself. Really awesome job done. Do you know who you look like? That actress. You know, the Scandinavian lady? What's her name?"

"How much farther is it?" she turned and asked Wicki as Omar puzzled on about the actress' name.

"About ten minutes," he replied quietly. He hadn't said very much on their journey, nothing in fact. He was too busy looking out the window, thinking very intently about something.

"Great" she said sarcastically. All the bumping and turning around the bendy roads was beginning to turn her stomach.

"Something wrong?" Wicki asked her.

"No," she said sarcastically again. "I'm loving my rollercoaster ride. I thought this day couldn't get anymore exciting."

"Ten minutes, I promise," he reassured her. Then he was silent again, gazing outside the window.

That was clearly all the conversation she was going to get from him right now. At least Omar was being friendly anyway, she thought. This Austrian was all business now since they had left the café and had their uncomfortable discussion. It seemed a shame. It felt like there should be more for them to say to each other. Obviously he didn't think so though.

"GARBO!" Omar finally yelled. Both Ellis and Wicki looked over at him in surprise at the volume of his voice and the excitement in it.

"Greta Garbo," he went on sheepishly, embarrassed by his outburst. "That's the actress you look like."

"Oh, okay," Ellis replied, bemused again by Omar. "Thanks."

Wicki rolled his eyes again before returning to the window.

"Not exactly like her, that is," Omar explained. "But you know, you remind me of her. Except the eyebrows. That's overkill in my opinion. Now you, you got nice normal looking ones, Garbo's got them really skinny ones. I've never been a fan of that kind myself, looks odd to me."

"Yeah, They're bit strange." Ellis agreed.

"Actually, she was in Mata Hari, wasn't she? Mata Hari was Dutch, right?"

"I believe she was."

"Well, that does it, then. You're the new Mata Hari. You know, except with bigger eyebrows."

Ten minutes later, just as Wicki had promised, the truck came to a stop in the middle of a forest. The three inhabitants climbed out. Ellis still felt light-headed from the journey. Omar and Wick quickly covered up the truck carefully, helping it to blend in with the surroundings.

"We have to walk a little bit, but not that far," Wicki informed her.

"Are you serious?" she asked, dismayed at the prospect. "Your friends driving nearly killed me as it is."

"You need help?" he asked. To his credit, he did look a little bit concerned.

"I'll be fine," she insisted. "All I have to do is stay upright."

"Omar, give her a hand," Wicki told him anyway, before heading off through the clearing.

Omar went over to try and help her, but she just waved him off and began walking by herself. He walked beside her regardless, clearly under the impression that she could fall over at any minute.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she reassured him, and it was true, the light-headedness had begun to subside at last. "If I can walk home after a 2 bottles of red wine without falling, I should be able to make it."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled, as they walked on through the trees.

Finally after a few minutes walk they had all arrived at what looked like an old forgotten storehouse at the edge of the forest. Whoever had built it was clearly long gone. Outside a short man with a roundish face was standing guard, gun held at the ready. He smiled at his approaching comrades, before giving a curious look to Ellis.

"Hirschberg," Wicki addressed the man, "This is Ellis de Vries. The Dutch contact."

Hirschberg looked at her again, as though he was sizing her up. He nodded as if giving his approval before returning to his friends again. For such a small man he definitely had a fierce quality to him. She supposed when you're smaller than most you would probably need to be.

"Everyone's inside," he told them both. "Been waiting for you a while, now."

"We're here now, aren't we," Omar shrugged. Omar and Wicki entered the barn together.

"Good to meet you," little Hirschberg said quickly before she followed them, showing a somewhat nicer nature.

"You too," she replied, smiling politely before finally entering the barn. Now it was time to meet the Basterds in earnest. All of them. The barn was dimly lit, but still had a sufficient amount of light. Any tools or leftover debris were cast to one side of the barn, while on the other side was the evidence of the military side of things; a radio, several ammunition cases and a table filled with maps and other papers.

Not far in front of her Wicki and Omar had rejoined their comrades, and she could hear several greetings between them. A few of them looked at her sceptically, unsure what to make of this new contact of theirs. She understood how they felt, she wasn't sure if this arrangement would even work, and if it didn't it could potentially lead to disaster.

One man stepped forward towards her and reached out a hand to shake hers.

"Lt. Aldo Raine," the man said in an accent she found strange. "I'm in charge of these here Basterds."

"Ellis de Vries," she replied, shaking his hand. "I work for the Resistance."

"So we've heard," he nodded. "From we been told you've been doing a mighty fine job too."

"And from what I hear you're much the same."

"Well, then. You thinking maybe we should work together?"

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Woohoo! Chapter 3! I hope you all enjoyed it, especially the correct spelling of Ellis' name (which I think I stressed quite a bit in this chapter). Also I've brought a lot of Omar in, simply because I thought he was quite cool in the movie. For some reason though I've made him into a bit of a rambling idiot. I just imagined his character as being pretty much unable to keep his mouth shut, but still being rather nice instead of annoying. I hope I managed to do that. Don't worry though, I've got interesting ideas for his character;-P Let's just say, he'll probably be one of the more fleshed out characters.

As for Wicki, he's rather quiet here. But that's all right I think. All he has to do is hang around and be sexy:D


	4. Bigger Fish to Fry

Thanks once again to all the very nice people who are reading and reviewing, you all deserve cookies, you do! I know I'm writing this at a very fast pace, but that's due to a mixture of inspiration, having most of the story in my head already, and the fact that I can't leave my house due to a sore foot. I can only watch so much TV before losing my mind, so writing this has been tremendous fun for me, and a big help with boredom. Next week I'm back at Uni so updates will get farther in between but I'm having such fun that they WILL continue.

Due to concerns raised by a reviewer I have wikipedia'd roller coasters, apparently they've been around since the 1880's, so we're good! Whether or not a Dutch Resistance agent in WWII would be referencing them I'll leave to reader discretion.

To repeat, I own nothing, this is a tribute. Humble and strange as it may be.

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"Take a seat," Lt. Aldo Raine offered gesturing to the nearby table, before walking in that direction himself.

Ellis followed behind and sat opposite him at the table, which had been cleared of its previous maps and documents by another one of the men. Raine promptly took out his snuffbox and inhaled two large lumps of it, before turning towards Ellis again.

"Now, Miss de Vries," he began, his accent still catching her off guard with its strangeness. "I gotta tell you that we don't know too much about what you Dutchies been doing all this time."

"That just means we're doing our job right," she replied. "If you had known what the Resistance did, then the Germans certainly would also."

"I ain't complainin' about your discretion, miss," Raine insisted. "But we're gonna have to know certain things; first off, so we know we can trust you, and secondly so that none of your little plans'll be gettin' in the way of ours."

Behind Raine stood a large, imposing man with black hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. He was fixing her with a hard stare, not unlike Hirschberg's earlier on. The difference was he wasn't letting up. She could imagine it was his job to look imposing, and he was doing a good job of it. She became aware that, whether consciously or not, the others were all around her as well. They kept at a distance but she still felt like they were surrounding her.

"Would you tell them to sit down or something, Lt Raine," she asked him. "This atmosphere isn't quite comfortable enough for me to say anything."

"Like I said, we ain't sure yet if we can trust you."

"Well, what am I going to do?" she countered. "Do I look like I'm going to take on a military unit?"

Raine considered what she said. She could have been packing a weapon for all they knew, they weren't in habit of frisking everyone they met, but even if she was it wouldn't do her much good. She could maybe take down one of them before it would be all over, and what good would that do? No one volunteered for that kind of mission. And besides, according to Wicki this girl was Jewish, and he seemed pretty convinced she was telling the truth about that.

"At ease, fellas," he finally charged. The men slowly all either sat down or at least moved away somewhat. Donny remained as he was. As second in command he rarely took notice of 'at ease' orders.

"Now, Ellis," Raine continued. "May I call you that?"

She nodded. "Call me whatever you want."

"Good, then," he carried on. "Ellis, we got ourselves a bargain to make here. Now you know who we work for and we know who you work for, so what you say we help 'em work together."

"Precisely what I was thinking," she agreed. "My job is to get as much information as I can about the plans and movements of the Germans in France, in particular the higher ranking officials. The information I get is passed on to my people. But they have also suggested you get it too, so you can inform your people as well."

"Nice of them to think of us," Raine smirked. "And we sure are glad to hear you say that. But… Well, I been thinkin' and I reckon you could help us a little more than that."

"I'm doing as I'm told, Lt. Raine," she insisted. "I'm not sure what else I can help you with."

He gave her a thoughtful look, as if trying to figure out how to phrase what he was about to say delicately.

"Boys," he called his men once more. She heard them all spring up to attention. Now this was worrying.

"Boys, we got some spy business that we gotta discuss in private," he informed them. "How's about you fellas check that Hirschberg ain't sleepin' on the job."

For a moment none of them moved. Clearly they were just as much in the dark as she was. That seemed even more disturbing to her. A stiff look and a nod from their commanding officer soon saw them reluctantly leave the barn and go outside.

"Wicki," Raine called after him. "You and Donny's stayin' here with me."

Wicki obliged and walked over to join them at the table, sitting on the side to her right, in between her and Raine. The large one, who she presumed now was Donny, had not moved an inch while the others left to go outside. He remained standing even now, still looking at her with suspicion. Ellis made sure she was sitting up perfectly straight, looking sure of herself in front of these Americans. She even crossed her legs in order to give off the impression none of this disturbed her in the slightest.

"Sorry for the fuss there, Ellis," Raine turned his attention back to her. "But what we're about to discuss is a delicate matter, and well, I figured you wouldn't want a whole unit listenin' in. Now Donny gets to stay 'cause he's my right hand man, and Wicki here is probably gonna be a bit more involved in these operations than most so I figured he'd better be here as well."

She still didn't know what was going on. The plan had been to divulge information and very little else with these so-called Basterds. Now it seemed like Raine had concocted an entirely new plan and was expecting her to cooperate fully. Did she have a choice? What would they do is she refused? Glancing briefly at Wicki, she could tell he was entirely sure what Lt. Raine was getting at either, but he was going along with it, ready to obey whatever order was coming.

"I'm not sure I understand you, sir," she told him. Her face betrayed nothing. "And I'm not sure if I should be doing anything I'm not authorised to do."

"Well, I got a proposal for you, Ellis," Raine explained. "Wicki here tell us you're Jewish and that Nazi's done away with your family."

She stiffened slightly, but tried not to show it. Of course he would have told his commanding officer, if anything it made her easier to trust, but she had expected it wouldn't become a topic of discussion. She couldn't help but feel irritated with Wicki.

"Old news," she said flatly. It was better to appear angry than hurt.

"No need to get defensive, I ain't callin' nothing into question," Raine explained. "Just hear me out now."

Ellis nodded. It would be better not to antagonise anyone. She did notice though that Donny's suspicious gaze on her had stopped, and instead he was looking at Raine with the same expression as Wicki.

"Your instructions, if what I've been told is correct, are to make nice with the Nazis in order to find out information," Raine went on. "Now, it's a tricky job. But you ain't no ugly girl so I figure we all know how you gonna do it."

Ellis didn't react. Her eyes remained fixed on Lt. Raine

"Ain't exactly pleasant, but Hell! You gotta do what you gotta do, right? You're a long way from home, so your people gotta think you can take care of yourself, and I gotta say so far I'd be agreeing with them."

"But…" he continued. "A lot of them Nazis is gonna be real nasty characters. And you may able to get what you need, but I got a hunch that you'll not be gettin' much job satisfaction."

"What exactly are you getting at?" she asked him, not wanting to appear as uncomfortable as she really felt at that moment.

"You're Jewish," he stated flatly. "And most of the men in this unit are also Jewish."

She couldn't help but widen her eyes now, partly in shock, partly in indignation. Was he suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? Raine gave her a puzzled look, before his own eyes widened.

"Oh, Hell no! I ain't sayin' that!" he exclaimed. "You that full o' yourself?"

"Well, then what are you suggesting, Lt. Raine?" she asked him angrily, choosing to ignore his last remark.

"I _was _saying that like my men you're probably wanting some payback for what the Nazis been doin' to your people. In fact, you probably got more reason to than most of us. What I need to know is do you want to get some of that payback?"

"I'm no real patriot," she replied, calming down a little. "I'm doing what I do precisely for that reason."

It was true. However much she may have liked her homeland and resented the German occupation of it, she wasn't doing this for Queen and country. She was doing it because of the German face that flashed across every memory she could summon of her parents, or her brother. Payback wasn't going to bring anyone back, she wasn't stupid. But human nature was a very jagged and angry creature. And right now it was in control of her. At the end of all of this she was either going to be dead, or left with absolutely nothing, she knew that.

"Well, we want to help you get it," Raine informed her. "So every now and then, and I'm not saying you gotta do this a lot, but every now and then if you meet yourself a particularly Nasty Nazi, you just let us know. You give us a time and a place, Ellis, and we'll make sure he gets what's coming to him."

A grin spread across Donny's face now. Now he saw what Aldo was getting at. What could be better, he thought? Some dirty old Nazi bastard thinking he's going to get some, when in fact he was going to get exactly what was coming to him. The inspiration must have just hit Aldo when he found out she was a Jew, but Donny was sure glad it had hit him. If this chick was as good as she thought she was then maybe they could get themselves some real major players. The prospect was just too good. He almost felt giddy.

"You would kill major officials?" she asked him. It was an enticing idea, but she knew it probably wasn't prudent. "Is that wise?"

"I'm not sayin' you gotta give them all to us, though you can if you want to, but how do you think Nazi's gonna feel if it's not just the little guys meetin' us? And don't you worry, we'll make sure they know it was us."

"What if they're able to link her to the dead guys?" Wicki piped up now, the first words he'd spoken while there. "She'll have been the last one seen with them."

"Now Wicki," Raine assured him. "Anyone can see here that Ellie is a lady. And a lady knows how to be subtle, ain't that right Ellie?"

"Don't worry," she agreed, turning to Wicki now. "I'd find a way to do it."

"So you'll do it?" Raine asked her, his expression stern, as if to stress the seriousness of his offer.

She paused. She knew she would do it. Kuipers and the rest of them would tell her not to, common sense was telling her the same thing. But she knew she was going to do. In the pit of her stomach she knew that she couldn't say no. And besides, if it saved her a few unpleasant nights she was extremely grateful. She looked at each of the three men with her. Raine's face was still as serious as it had been when he asked her, Wicki face on the other hand showed his reservations about the whole thing, not that he seemed the type to voice them anyway. The big man, Donny, seemed very eager about the whole thing, his dark eyes seeming to get brighter at the thought of it.

"I'll do it," she replied. "It'll save me some trouble if anything."

"Well then," Raine clapped his hands together, grinning ear to ear. "Everyone's a winner. I think this collaboration is gonna work out nicely, don't you Ellie?"

"For us winners anyway," she agreed, still unsmiling.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," now Donny really was grinning like a demon.

"Language, Donny," Raine cautioned, not sounding too annoyed though.

"He seems happy," she said, eyebrows raised. Clearly the thought of dead Nazi's appealed especially to this one.

"You have no idea," Wicki muttered.

A few minutes later all four members of the private meeting stepped out of the barn. The rest of the Basterds looked up, having previously occupied themselves by theorising why they might not be allowed to hear what was being said. Not that they didn't try. They walked over to them, ready to be told whatever it was Raine was going to tell them.

"It's time you got to meet the Basterds proper," Raine proudly informed Ellis. She looked around at each of them, most of them didn't appear to look particularly intimidating, with one very obvious exception.

"Some of us you know already," Raine began. "Donny, Wicki, Hirschberg even. And I'm sure you know all about Omar and his big mouth."

Omar shrugged. He was used to hazing, he was in a group of guys after all.

"Now there's a few more of us," Raine gestured to the rest of the group. "Now over on the left we've got Private Smithson Utivich."

Ellis moved forward, deciding it would be friendliest to shake each of their hands. The stakes had just been upped significantly, she wanted to stand herself in good stead with all of them if possible.

"Beside him there's Privates Zimmerman and Sakowitz"

She shook their hands.

"Then you've got Private Kagan"

She shook his hand.

"And that friendly looking fella there is none other than Hugo Stiglitz."

She shook his hand as well, although he gave it somewhat grudgingly.

"You, I've heard of," she told him in German. A small smirk appeared on his face. She could tell he enjoyed having a reputation. Of course she knew who he was, Stiglitz's story was almost like an urban legend, which Germans tried to discredit -unsuccessfully. She had just presumed a man like him would have been executed, pure and simple, but clearly he had managed to avoid that fate and find himself a group with similar tastes to his.

"And that's us," Raine finished. She walked back over to him.

"Seems like you have everything you need to frighten the Nazis," she told him. "Now all you need is the Nazis."

"Well, that's where you come in now, isn't it?" Raine smiled. He turned back to his men.

"Ellie here is gonna find out exactly where them Nazis is goin' from now on," he informed. "Which means they gonna be a hell of a lot easier for us to find. And once we deal with enough of them, she's gonna get us some big fish as a little reward."

He paused to let his last statement sink in. A few grins appeared among the men. Where could Nazi go if they knew exactly where he was going? And the higher ranking they could get, the better. Stiglitz in particular seemed pleased by this.

"How big's the fish going be?" one of the men asked. She remembered him as Kagan, a tall and gangly looking soldier.

"Bigger than we're used to, I should hope," Raine replied.

"The higher they rank, the more they usually like a drink anyway," she informed him.

"That they most certainly do," he agreed. "But we should probably get you back to where you're supposed to be."

"Yes," she agreed. "I need to see the manager if the place I'm working at. And I have other contacts I need to notify that I'm in France."

"Don't notify them of too much," Donny piped up from beside Raine.

"True," Raine conceded. "If anyone ever asks, you ain't seen us, you ain't telling us nothin' and you ain't got no idea what happened to no Nazis."

"I'm not stupid," she replied, slightly irritated with their cautioning. "I know how this works."

"Just saying," Donny shrugged.

"Omar and Wicki," Raine addressed the two men. "You're both still in your Nazi finest. Escort the lady back to where she's going. Deals the same, Omar does the drivin' and Wicki does the talking if needs be. And don't be leavin' her in them back streets by herself. She'll be needin' to look her best after all."

Omar and Wicki nodded and began to walk back to where the truck was parked. Ellis said a quick goodbye to the Lieutenant before following them.

The meeting had gone well somewhat. Raine seemed to have some trust in her at least, whether any of the others did was yet to be seen. But, she reasoned, as long as Raine was giving the orders they would be cooperative at the very least. They didn't look like hardened killers anyway, apart from Stiglitz obviously, and probably Donny. It was hard to imagine the fear they managed to instil in the mighty Third Reich, and yet their reputation preceded them amongst the soldiery.

But now her job would be riskier. It was one thing to get information from a drunkard or to steal the keys necessary to get where she needed to be. Clever lying and careful measures could be taken to cover her tracks. But if officers started to go missing then the SS would get involved, and worse, the Gestapo. She would have to be even more careful. Being the last person seen with a dead official would be enough to ruin everything.

But if she was going to die, at least some Germans would be joining her anyway.

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Yay, the Basterds are here! And they are here to stay! I didn't realise how difficult it would be to write Aldo's lines, all I keep hearing in my head is "Y'all come back now, ya hear!" for some reason... Hopefully he sounds Aldo-ish and not like a Beverly Hillbilly. I actually think i might have over done it, but meh, so did Brad Pitt and that's why we love him. Next chapter will have a lot more of the Basterds themselves so yay!

Again, thanks for reading:) MWAH!!!


	5. Homesick

Once more, thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and nice to me. It means a lot, it really does:) Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

This chapter is to give the Basterds more attention, and to really try to get to know some of them a bit more. It's been the toughest to write, but I think you'll understand what I'm trying to do. And if not, that's what rewrites are for!!! It's a long one I warn you...

Again, Inglourious Basterds and Zwartboek belong to their respective owners, not me. No matter how much I wish they did.

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"What do you think?" Utivich asked Raine a while after Omar and Wicki had left to see off the woman.

"Think about what?" Raine asked, taking out his snuffbox again. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Utivich meant, but it was better to act oblivious.

"Can we really trust her?" Utivich replied, conscious of keeping his voice low enough that no one but Raine would hear him. "We don't know much about her after all."

"She don't know nothin' that'll get us in trouble," Raine reasoned with him. "We don't stay in one spot long enough for her to give away a position, and besides we got ourselves a pretty big reputation. Every German knows about us, that don't mean they can stop us."

"If you're sure, I guess…"

"That a boy," Raine slapped him on the shoulder before he could finish. Finally taking his snuff as he walked away from him.

He liked Utivich. Sure, he was young and not the toughest guy in the group, but he was the smartest. It was only natural that the men would have their misgivings about anyone new, especially a woman. Time would be the only thing that won them over to her side. He had a gut feeling about her though.

Aldo Raine had always been a good judge of character. He read the signs that most people didn't even see, and this woman was pissed off. And what's more she was hurting from it. She didn't just lose her family, she had _seen _them die. He had seen it in her face, in the way she reacted. No one who saw that would ever be fully right again. She wasn't going to betray them, nothing she could be bribed or threatened with would get rid of the images in her head.

He felt sorry for her. Honest to God, downright sorry.

"Is it true she's a Jew?" Utivich caught up with him again. Clearly he still had his doubts about their new friend.

"Wicki said so," Raine shrugged. "And he's damn sure that she's on the level. Now do you have a problem with anything else, Private?"

"No, sir," Utivich resigned. He would have to trust his commanding officer. Raine had never steered them wrong in the past, he could only hope that he was right as usual. He gave up his suit for now and went back over to some of his fellow Basterds.

Raine continued back to the barn. Stiglitz was leaning against the shabby looking walls, staring at the others, staying absolutely still. He did this a lot. While, undoubtedly loyal to their cause, the killing Nazis that was, not so much avenging the Jews, he kept his distance most of the time. Raine knew there was something wrong with him, you didn't have to be too observant to know that. But Raine knew that whatever it was, it went down really deep into Stiglitz. He was not a cold-blooded killer born, something had gone and made him that way. He couldn't relate to the people around him, or anyone else for that matter it seemed, it just didn't happen. Raine sometimes wondered if this inability frustrated Stiglitz, or had he stopped caring completely.

"Stiglitz," Raine addressed him, using his 'Lieutenant voice'. Stiglitz looked up at him, acknowledging him but not bothering to move either.

"She spoke German to you," Raine said, coming over to where Stiglitz was leaning. "What she say?"

"She said she'd heard of me," Stiglitz grinned. He liked his infamy. People were scared of him, and so they should be. Even this Dutch spy, she had shaken his hand and played it casual, but he knew. Like most people, she thought he was insane. He wasn't insane though. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"And there was me thinkin' you was just some kind of crazy," Raine said, mock sincere. "Turns out you're also quite the celebrity."

Stiglitz remained silent. He was still staring at his fellow Basterds. They had long since stopped caring about Stiglitz's strange behaviour, they hardly even noticed the staring anymore.

"What you make of her then?" Raine asked him. It would be interesting to hear what their silent German thought about her.

"She's fucked up," he simply replied.

"Ain't we all?" Raine joked. "Fucked up how?"

"She has no idea what she's doing," Stiglitz responded, almost in a monotone voice, like his mind was far away. "Hoping for something. She's knows better than that but it's still what she does."

Raine was nearly impressed, this was pretty insightful for Stiglitz. Although he found it disturbing to think that he and Stiglitz shared that trait.

"She's angry too," Stiglitz continued. "She'd kill them with her bare hands if she could." A small smile became visible on his face. Raine hated it when Stiglitz smiled, it seemed about as far away from happy as you could get.

"I like her."

"Right…" Raine began to move away from him now. He started walking over to the rest of the men, leaving Stiglitz behind with whatever strange thoughts were in his head.

Before he reached them however, Donny bounded over him. For such a big guy, Donny had a real manic energy and quality about him. It was only when he knew he was going in for the kill that he would become still. He wasn't like that at the start of all this. He was just your typical meathead from Boston, nice when it came down to it, but still a typical meathead. Maybe he would turn out like Stiglitz someday. Raine dreaded to think what that would be like.

"So what's our plan?" Donny asked Raine, unable to keep fully still. "What's next?"

"Well, first off we wait," Raine informed. "We gotta wait for Wicki and Omar to get back. Then we do what we always do. We hunt 'em down and clean 'em out. Hopefully, that woman won't keep us waitin' too long."

"How long's she gonna take?" Donny asked. He was not a patient guy. He wanted the chance to knock in the skulls of some of those guys who sat on their asses all day, signing papers that got other people killed.

"Donny, she ain't gonna rush nothing for us," Raine told, his tone of voice not unlike that of a parent telling their child to eat their greens before they could get dessert. "Thinkin' about it, she's probably better off not doing it all, keeping herself safe. But I reckon she's gonna do it. We are just gonna have to be patient. Her situation ain't as easy as ours."

"What's the problem?" Donny exclaimed. "All she's gotta do is bat them eyelashes, show them a bit of leg, we jump out from the shadows and BAM!"

He hit the palm of his left hand with his fist. It made a loud sharp sound with echoed slightly against the trees. Some of the Basterds looked up at him briefly, but they soon lost interest. Donny was just being Donny.

"I mean we're the ones who gotta keep in the move," Donny reasoned, a little bit calmer. "She's the one they don't know about."

"And she's gotta stay that way," Raine insisted. Shit, Donny could be dumb when he wanted to be. "Ain't the same for her as us. And besides, what you think is easier; killing your enemy or making nice with him."

Donny didn't say anything. He knew better than to question Raine any further. He was far too prone to lecturing them, just like every gym teacher he had ever known. He'd already gone too far with him. It was just too hard to stay calm.

"Think about it, dumbass," Raine's voice was low and he spoke quickly, just like he always did when he was annoyed at them. "Hitting Nazi in the head come easy to you, natural as can be. What if I told you to go buy him a drink? What if I said you go put your arm 'round him like he was your brother? You like that? You that'd be easy?

"Now she ain't killin' nobody," he continued. "She gotta make nice all the time. Worse than that, she gotta get up close and downright personal with them on occasion. Ain't that bad enough?"

"Yes, sir," Donny conceded. He had given up. He would have to wait, whether he liked it or not. He didn't like what the Lieutenant had just said, it made him uncomfortable. He couldn't even stand the sight of the Nazis, let alone be anywhere near them. And they hadn't even killed his family either…

"Now if you really itchin' to try and get them big fish, we could always curl Utivich's eyelashes and send him off in a pretty little red number, see how we do."

_Oh, Jesus. Just don't laugh. He's trying to make a point._

"But I don't like our chances with that," Raine was beginning to rein it back in again. His lecture was coming to a close. He didn't want anyone feeling sore at him, but he had to make his point. "Ellis knows what she's doing, and I doubt Utivich'll do anything without some commitment. So keep it cool, I'm sure we're gonna get someone real good."

And with that, he moved off again, this time finding a place to sit down not too far from where the others were. It could be hard to get any time alone around these guys, unless of course you were Stiglitz. But right now they were all busy talking and messing around amongst themselves, so he might at least have a few minutes peace.

Donny returned to where the rest of the Basterds were. They were all sitting down in almost a circle, just passing the time by talking about anything at all, mostly stupid things. When they weren't on the hunt for Nazis or evading capture there was little else for them to do. Occasionally they would have a rendez-vous in which to get information, or extra supplies, but apart from that there was a lot of waiting around to be done. Donny joined the circle in the middle of their pointless conversation. As usual it involved women, or at least the lack of them. None of them had really realised when signing up and shipping off just how much they would miss having girls around, and not purely for physical reasons. The fact that a woman had just been here didn't help either.

Meanwhile, not to far away, Omar and Wicki were heading back to their camp after getting Ellis back to Montparnasse safely. Just as ordered Wicki had gone back with her through the seedier parts of the city while Omar guarded their truck in the derelict square.

Wicki was still being uncharacteristically quiet. He had never been a loudmouth, but he was a friendly enough person who you could hold a conversation with. Omar felt uncomfortable with all the silence, but any small talk he tried to make was met with short answers from Wicki before they slipped back into silence. He was being a real Stiglitz, Omar thought, and that was just far too creepy.

"Man, those French girls look real nice," he tried again, as they drove past a group of girls walking down the road. "Vive la France, right?"

"Yeah," Wicki responded, not even bothering to try anymore. "Real nice."

Omar sighed. He had had enough of this. No more Mr. Nice Basterd.

"All right, Wicki," he said. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing is up with me," Wicki replied, still unwilling to talk.

"Bullshit," Omar went on the offensive. "Now, I can understand you not wanting to be all talk in front of a new collaborator. That's just being smart, smarter than me anyway. But business is over and you're still not talking."

"Well, we all can't talk as much as you, Omar."

"Something to aspire to, asshole. Now spill it, where's you're head at?" He wasn't letting up this time.

Wicki didn't say anything for a minute. He really was not in the mood for Omar's rambling on or for answering questions. He stayed looking out of the window.

The day had really cleared up nicely after the dull morning had passed. The sun was out, and while there was still plenty of clouds up above the blue sky was still clearly visible in between. The fields they passed as they drove along the dirt roads looked so much better now that the sun was shining… The weather had quite the sense of irony, he thought to himself.

"Thinking about home," he finally admitted. It was vague enough, but he hoped it would be enough to allow Omar to let it go.

"You homesick?" Omar asked.

It was understandable sure, they all got a little homesick now and then, especially when they were freezing or soaked to the skin. But it wasn't like Wicki to let stuff like that get to him. On the other hand, he supposed, Wicki wasn't a machine. Stuff could get to him, just like it got to anybody.

He didn't reply.

As they drove along the roads, Omar let the silence hang in the air. He didn't like it. It just didn't feel natural at all. But he didn't want to go poking and prodding at something he shouldn't. But as the minutes passed, he felt more and more uneasy. He started to dislike how his last statement hung around them. It didn't seem fair.

"You know what I miss from home?" he finally caved in and started talking. "Peanut butter. Honest to God! Fucking peanut butter. I never even ate it that much. But now the only thing I can think of doing first thing when I get back is eating peanut butter. Weird, right?"

Wicki stayed quiet, he didn't even look up. Omar wondered if he had even heard him at all. He was off on a different planet completely. He'd just tried to be funny, wanting to wake Wicki up a bit. But Wicki was having none of it.

If Omar had actually been serious he would have talked about missing having hot water, or drinking beer after work with his buddies, or even feeding his dog. He would have talked about his parents, and his sisters, and especially his little brother. That's what he really missed. He missed it all every day. He missed them all a lot. Mom and Dad, Leah, Annie and Paula, and not to mention little Bernie. He saw them all in his head clear as day, exactly how he left them.

_Shit, I missed the point of that completely. _

It hit him suddenly, and he felt guilty for not getting it sooner. On paper Wicki was an American, but that was paper and had just been a necessity for him. The man himself had been born in Linz, Austria, and he had grown up in Munich. America had just been the best place to run to when things got bad. Any stuff he was homesick for, wasn't waiting for him back in the States. And, Omar theorised, not many people were waiting there for him either.

"When this whole thing is over," Omar began again, talking a little quieter this time. "You going to stay in Europe?"

Wicki considered this for a moment. From the tone in Omar's voice something had clicked for him and he had finally realised what he had meant all along. This wasn't about being 'homesick'. To be homesick you needed to have a home, didn't you.

"I don't know," he replied at last. "But I don't think it's going to be quite the place I remember anymore. There's much not much left to like about it."

"Is anybody left?"

"Who knows?" He said softly. "But I doubt it."

"Shit…"

Omar really felt bad now. Thinking about his own family back home he knew they were okay. They went to bed every night in their apartment, had dinner together, argued over who had to wash the dishes and laughed at dad's bad jokes. They were safe. And Omar had always liked to think that part of what he was doing here was keeping them that way.

Wicki didn't have that. When he left Munich it was because he couldn't stand anymore of the ridiculous laws and restrictions that kept being heaped upon him because he was a Jew. He kept saying it; the Nazis wanted to get rid of them, bit by bit until there was nothing left, and he hadn't been the only one to say so, but no one really thought it would happen. How on earth could things possibly get so bad? But pretty soon, he had had enough. And so he left. His family had asked him not to, but he left anyway. He had his pride, he wasn't going to be pushed around just because of his religion. Just in time, he got out.

He was lucky if he got some of the letters they had sent. And he was fairly sure that few of his, if any, had gotten through to them. Pretty soon after getting to America there was no way to contact anyone from home, it was pointless even to try. Then there were the rumours, and shortly after that there were the news reports. He had tried not to think about it too much, but deep down he understood the chances were slim, if the chances even existed. Deep down he knew the truth.

The others didn't understand. They only had distant relatives that they had never even met. Their intentions were good and their painful outrage genuine, he didn't doubt that even for a second. He knew these guys, and he knew that they were fully committed to this, even to the point of dying for their fellow Jews. But they didn't know what it was like.

He hadn't expected much from this Dutch contact. Information would be exchanged and little else, as far as he was concerned. He didn't realise she would be who she was. He didn't know that she would have been the window through which he saw the fate of his friends and neighbours. His family. This wasn't rumours or news reports. This was really happening. Whatever he did to the Nazis now it would still be too late. This one woman had confirmed the very worst feeling he had felt in his gut every time he read the paper or listened to the radio. That's how he had known she was telling the truth. That same sinking feeling had taken him when she told him. There was no lie in that.

There was nothing left. There was only the need to go on, to live on and punish the people responsible. But where would that get him in the end?

He wished Ellis de Vries had died along with her family. For her sake and for his.

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Phew, that was tiring! I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Any problems, let me know. I'm a reasonable girl when I want to be.

Thank you all again:)


	6. A Night in the Bobino

Okay, this is quite a long one and there's a lot in it. We're getting a lot of back info on Ellis, and while I know many Zwartboek fans will know a lot of this information, I stuck it in anyway to help with any confusion there might be. Also a few details have been tweaked in order to fit with the story. If you haven't seen Zwartboek though be warned, here there be spoilers... I hope you enjoy this anyway, it's nice and long in any case!

I own nothing, we know this, no copyright infringement intended. Moving on.

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The Bobino certainly lived up its reputation. It was dimly lit and full of the foul smoke of cigars as well as cigarettes, just like any true music hall was. It wasn't huge, but it was big enough to avoid anyone you didn't want to see and the stage always had something to preoccupy its patrons. It reminded Ellis a lot of her Berlin days.

The thing about a stricter and more conservative Germany was that it just meant that the Germans would have to go somewhere else to have their fun. In Nazi Germany no self-respecting person would be caught dead in this dark, stuffy den of iniquity. But in Nazi occupied France it seemed that there was only Germans there. Before the war the Bobino had had a decent enough reputation, many quality performers had tread its boards and its choruses always brought the house down. It had been very much a French venue, and more than that, it had been definitively Parisian.

But as the Germans had swarmed in fewer and fewer Parisians came to the Bobino. In a time of occupation many didn't feel like enjoying its decadent evenings anymore, and many who did simply couldn't. Now its main patrons were the Germans, initially mostly common soldiers. However when the Bobinos reputation held up, even in the face of certain ruin, more and more officers had begun to frequent it instead. Nowadays it had become the fashionable place for higher-ranking men to be seen.

The manager, Monsieur Fresnay, was a small, skinny Frenchman in his late fifties, with jet-black hair slicked back tight to his head and a cigarette constantly in his hand. He had laid down the law to Ellis very plainly. She sang five nights a week for at least half an hour, and more if the audience liked her. During the day, as much as she could, she would help tidy the place and prepare it for the coming evening like everyone else. After all, times were hard and if they wanted to keep business booming everybody had to do their bit. Like any other girl in the place she would be as friendly to the patrons as she could, but if they wanted to get any friendlier she would have to take it elsewhere. No one else in the club would be told of who exactly this Ellis de Vries was, for their own protection just as much as hers. And most importantly, if she were ever to be caught, he and his club were to be protected at all costs.

Ellis could tell Fresnay hated the Germans as much as any French person could, but if he wanted to keep his business afloat and himself and his employees off the streets he had to grin and bear their kind patronage. She understood, not everyone could fight the good fight, some people merely had to survive this war. But he had provided a job and cover story for a foreign Resistance agent, which at least showed some fighting spirit she thought. It was his connection to the French Resistance that had started this collaboration in the first place after all.

Their discussion had been brief and she had been set to work immediately, practicing with her new pianist and band for her first night at work. Instead of trying to meet her Dutch contacts Fresnay had promised to tell his people to inform them for her. It seemed wise she thought, the more she kept her head down the better. Fresnay would cooperate as much as she needed but had made it very clear, _if he absolutely didn't have to know he didn't want to. _

Then finally, it came. At nine o' clock that night the MC of the Bobino, Etienne, thanked the chorus line which had just riled up the audience and loudly announced the newest addition to the roster to them; The beautiful German voice of Miss Ellis de Vries. The crowd responded enthusiastically, despite her unfamiliarity with them, probably with the aid of all that wine. She walked onto the stage dressed perfectly, though nothing too flashy or formal, and smiled at her audience with confidence radiating from her. To her audience she looked like a competent and comfortable performer, but on the inside her stomach felt sick and her body struggled not to shake. Performing had never been a problem for her, a natural show-off and cocky young woman for most of her life, and singing had always given her the greatest joy. But this wasn't just a healthy dose of nerves, she was scared. She was really, really scared.

All she wanted to do from the moment she stepped onstage was to burst into tears. She had been sick twice before going on already. This was it. After this there was no going back. The mask would go on and it would not come off. And whatever support she might have from the Resistance she was still pretty much on her own. If she got caught that was it, no one was coming to rescue her.

Was she even able to this on her own? Could she keep up the pretence for so long? She wasn't a trained spy, she was just some woman the Resistance had one day decided would help transport radio equipment, posing on the arm of the real man in charge. After that she had only got into things deeper and deeper. But she had messed up before and she could very easily do it again. She was no spy. She wasn't the _femme fatale_ from the movies, impossibly calm and brave. Omar had called her Mata Hari… but Mata Hari ended up in front of the firing squad.

Then, completely terrified and out of her depth, she began. Appropriately the first song she chose was a rousing and rather suggestive little number. The tipsy crowd reacted with whoops and cheers just as she had hoped. It was easy to pull of performing like this; for the more salacious numbers you just put your hands on your hips, wiggled a little bit and knew when to pout and when to grin. For the slower, sweeter songs it was more a case of mixing sighs, smiles and sad looks while your hands were either outstretched in longing or covering your heart.

Soon she was in full swing and her mind even began to wander as she executed her tried and tested performance techniques. It had been an eventful day to say the very least, mostly due to the uncertain alliance she had forged with those Americans. The Basterds, as the Germans called them, and what they proudly called themselves also. They certainly were a rag tag ensemble of men. Instead of selecting the strongest, most hardened men they could get, they had instead chosen some of the most unexpected. Of course Lt. Raine and the one called Donny were obvious soldiers, and Stiglitz was a natural born killer himself. Wicki also made sense in the role of a soldier, although he pulled off a higher rank better than his usual one in her opinion. And Omar, she had to admit, maybe not the biggest guy, but still not out of place amongst soldiers.

The others though could have easily not been soldiers. Utivich and Hirschberg were both small enough men, but Hirschberg had a ferocity to him whereas Utivich had seemed more contained and thoughtful. Zimmerman looked like on of the oldest in the group, definitely nearing middle age, and his Private status at that age surely spoke of his relative late coming into the army. Kagan and Sakowitz were both skinny and rather gawkish looking, though they both seemed serious and intent about their duties. All in all, not the most expected men, but certainly the right men for the job. And besides, the more normal they looked and wee able to blend in the better, right.

And, for the most part, they were Jews. And they were fighting for her people, the ones who could no longer help themselves. They were either used as target practice for Germans or forced to live like rats in hiding. To be Jewish had become a death sentence. But these Americans weren't going to let that continue. Americans who lived in relative comfort and safety, and who really had no place in Europe had decided to leave their home to fight for their fellow Jews.

Except for Wicki, of course. He wasn't here because of moral outrage or a feeling of responsibility to his fellow men. He wasn't as far removed as the others were from this. His friends, family and neighbours were the people that the Americans had heard about being killed in their thousands. He felt guilty about being wise enough to get out. A part of him would always tell him that he should have stayed with them, and then if they had been killed he would have been there, maybe there would have been something he could do to help. But Wicki was too late.

While he had taken Ellis back to where they had first met, the café along a bust street, he had said virtually nothing to her. They had walked in silence, except for when he informed her they would meet again at the same time in a week, this time in a bar in Le Marais. Apart from that, nothing was said.

She had felt almost angry with him for doing this, verging on becoming upset even. As they walked along those back streets all she had wanted to do was shout at him to say something. _He knew. He understood. _Why did the only person who knew what it felt like have nothing to say about it.? But then, looking back he may have thought the same of her. She had also said nothing, not wanting to be the one who dragged the sorrow out of another. They both understood, and yet could do nothing about it.

Before she knew it however, her time was up. Thirty minutes had passed and her songs had been sung and rapturously received. Like the professional she was she smiled broadly and bowed for her audience, some of whom called out requests for songs from their seats. Etienne appeared right on time and thanked her for her 'magnificent' singing and allowed her to finally leave the stage before calling on the chorus girls again.

Stepping off the stage feeling too warm and suddenly drained, she sat down on the nearest chair she could find. A few people backstage even congratulated her, to which she could only respond meekly. Suddenly Fresnay appeared on her right, his brow furrowed with worry. She immediately straightened up.

"Mademoiselle de Vries," he began, his voice low enough so as not to be picked up by any other employees. "There is a man here. A German. He wants to ask you some questions."

She took a deep breath. It would be the Gestapo. She was a foreigner in France with previous ties to the Nazis in the Netherlands. Of course there would be some questions. She needed to keep her head and keep her act up. The game had started, and there was no forfeit.

She nodded to Fresnay and followed him out to the floor area. He led her to one of the many booths that lined the walls of the club. More luxiorious than the ones from the café earlier, these booths were specially designed for when people wanted to be a little more discreet. Or sneaky if you were the Gestapo.

Sitting there was a typically seedy looking German. He was regarding her with cool interest, as if not quite sure what to make of her just yet. She made sure her face betrayed nothing. She was just a woman trying to make a living whatever way she could. There was nothing suspicious about her at all…

"Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom," he introduced himself without bothering to stand up or shake her hand.

"Ellis de Vries," she moved toward and stretched out her hand. The friendlier and more unassuming she came across the better. He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not to take her hand. Stretching his own out he limply shook her hand, before letting it go quickly. He clearly didn't enjoy pleasantries.

"I know your German is good, Miss de Vries," he began again, probably trying to sound as nice as he was physically capable of doing. "And so I was just wondering whether or not you would be willing to have a little 'chat' with me."

Fresnay decided to take his leave of the situation, leaving Ellis alone with the greasy Hellstrom.

"Strictly routine," he assured her, still trying to sound nice.

"Of course," she replied politely. "I completely understand, Sturmbannführer."

She sat down across from him, and tried to look as compliant and as charming as she could. God knows whether a Gestapo officer would fall for her charms or not, they always seemed to be the oddest and most vicious of men.

"You are from the Netherlands, are you not?" he asked, no longer trying to appear friendly. His voice was almost sharp with her. "Whereabouts?"

"Amsterdam mainly," she replied, bearing in mind the well-prepared story she had been given. "But I was born in The Hague and I still have a family address there."

Hellstrom looked over the papers in front of him. Her answered checked out. So far, so good.

"And you have been occupied as singer in various establishments in several areas as well."

"Again, Amsterdam mainly. But I have had short runs in several other places, Limburg in particular."

"Very good," he said absent-mindedly, once again checking his papers. "Monsieur Fresnay has already provided your work documents and they are all in order as well. It would seem everything is very much as it should be."

"Of course, Sturmbannführer," she answered sweetly.

"Now, if I might ask you some more personal questions, Miss de Vries?" he asked, putting down his papers and looking at her directly. She held his gaze, her hands folded tidily on the table in front of her. If she could move him in any way she would do it.

"Absolutely," she replied.

"What exactly is your purpose for being in France? Is it purely for your work?"

"Yes, Sturmbannführer. Its harder and harder to find work these days, as you know, especially for singers. A friend of mine suggested I write to some club owners in Paris to see if there was anything available at all. Fortunately for me, Monsieur Fresnay had heard me once before and so agreed to give me some work."

"How very fortunate indeed. And you're sure it hasn't anything to do with the unfortunate death of Haupsturmführer Müntze?"

Ellis froze. He knew about Müntze.

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She had met Haupsturmführer Ludwig Müntze on a train back to The Hague. She and her fellow Resistance member, Hans Akkermans, had been posing as a couple to try and transport the radio equipment back to their headquarters. When they realized that their suitcases would be checked she had taken them in a desperate attempt to conceal their secret. In doing so she had met Müntze in one of the train cars. Turning on the charm she managed to get his attention and kept her luggage under the radar.

Once the Kuipers had discovered Müntze's instant liking for her, he had charged her with getting closer to him in order to get herself into the Nazis headquarters. While there she could bug their offices so as to allow the Resistance to hear what they were up to, and also to try and help their members who had been arrested.

_How far are you willing to go?_

_As far as Müntze wants to go._

And so she did as she was told. Müntze's liking of her made seduction easy, and she managed to ingratiate herself with his colleagues also. Fairly quickly he had managed to get her a job as a secretary in the headquarters, where she was able to plant the microphone of the radio. It was all going well except for one thing.

_Franken._

The man who had so casually lit up a cigarette over the bodies of her family was also there. Seeing him at first had hit her like a ton of bricks, making her sick to her stomach. Yet, she had managed to pretend that nothing was wrong, knowing what was at stake for everyone involved. She did take part though in the unauthorized murder of his best informant, Van Gein, the same man who had 'helped' her and her family get on that boat that fateful night. It had been no unfortunate accident; it had been a trap all along. After that, all hell broke loose.

Müntze figured it out straight away. She was forced to tell him about Franken and Van Gein's scheme for tricking and killing rich Jews, and about how Franken kept all the valuables for himself. When Müntze tried to get Franken caught out for this, Franken had been one step ahead and they soon found Müntze in front of the firing squad instead, unwillingly to reveal his source of information.

Poor Müntze. Poor, poor Müntze. She had ruined him and he had still protected her. He was no Nazi. He had no will for war or violence, not after losing his own family, his wife and daughters. He had known she was Jewish all along and he hadn't cared. He had cared about her though, and she ended up caring for him much more than she ever should have.

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"Why would this be about Müntze?" she asked Hellstrom. Her face still betrayed nothing. She would have to lie here more than anywhere else.

"Forgive me," Hellstrom replied. "But weren't you his mistress when he died?"

"Not so much his mistress," she insisted. "I was only with him for a few days really. He told me he could get me a job as a secretary if I went with him to a party. I needed the money, so I went along with it. I'm afraid that sometimes hard times force us to make concessions, Sturmbannführer."

"I understand," he nodded. "But you do realize how it must look. As soon as you begin work with Müntze, he gets himself into trouble. And we all know how that ended."

"I know how it looks," she tried to appear as sincere and as anxious as she could. He would like to think he was unsettling her. It would probably get him off more than she could. "But believe me, whatever Müntze was thinking of, he was thinking it a long time before he met me."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. He was extremely paranoid. He kept talking about Obersturmführer Franken and how he was out to get him. It seemed to be all he thought about. Except for… well, you know."

"I see." Hellstrom seemed to consider what she said.

"He said someone had told him Franken was stealing from the Reich. He said that he was going to expose him for what he really was… But there was nothing. Whoever sold him that information had been making it up."

"You're departure was a very short time after his death though," Hellstrom wasn't letting up. She was going to have to spin him something better than this.

"Listen, Sturmbannführer," she leaned forward slightly, as if divulging a secret to him. "Don't you think there's a reason I work in a place like this? I could have worked in any club I wanted to in Amsterdam. But I can't sing forever. I need to think about my future."

He had also leaned forward, a little too close for Ellis' liking, but she thought it might be working on him.

"And as you know, this Reich is the future. Müntze was, if you'll forgive the insensitivity, my meal ticket. Once he died, no one else would touch me. It was like I was bad luck. I needed another beginning, where no one would know."

Hellstrom leaned back, and looked Ellis up and down. She couldn't read his expression right then. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure she would hear it.

"I understand completely, Miss de Vries," he finally said after a few moments consideration. "Youth and beauty are such fleeting things, aren't they? At this stage its important for you to look ahead. And this certainly this is the right place if you're looking for a higher ranking future."

He had bought it. She could scarcely believe it but he had bought it She tried not to show her pleasure at being able to deceive him too much. She still needed to be careful around him.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her knee. A horrible shock ran through her body. She tried her hardest not to stiffen or show any discomfort, but it was hard. This man was one of the sleaziest Gestapo she had ever seen. But what could she do? Her only option was to play along.

"But we must never forget how to enjoy the present.," he whispered.

She tried not to cringe as he began to move his hand slowly higher. She had known it would come to this. There was nothing else for it now.

Then suddenly, as if by divine intervention, one of the waiters walking past their table stumbled, dropping a wine bottle on the table. The wine splattered everywhere, mostly all over Ellis. She shrieked when the cold wine splashed all over her clothes, It felt like such a relief to shriek at last, it felt like it had been building up inside her for a while.

Hellstrom was up, and hurling abuse at the clumsy waiter. Ellis took this as her cue and hurried off, pretending to be looking for a way to salvage her ruined dress. Moving as fast as she could she pushed her way backstage. Turning a corner so as to be away from prying eyes, she finally crumpled into a heap on the floor, shaking. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

She couldn't do this. She was lucky she hadn't been arrested on the spot. And the revulsion she felt when he had started to touch her… she could have never gone through with it. She wasn't fit to be this spy or this seductress. She was so in over her head she was drowning. What on earth was she going to do now?

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God, I'm tired after that one! I'll try to make them as drawn out as that one again, but blame the length on most of the backstory anyway! I hope you liked it anyway:)

Thank you so much for the reviews you've been giving me. They mean so much and writing this has been so much fun and a great stress reliever for me, so most sincerely thank you so much!!!


	7. Whisky

Well, well I actually managed to make it to chapter seven! I don't think I've ever stuck a fanfic this long. I'm really enjoying this so much, so thanks again for all support! I only hope I don't start letting you down:o

Again, no copyright infringement is intended. Please don't sue me, I have no money anyway.

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Wicki lit a cigarette and took a sip from his glass of whisky. There were some perks to being one of the only two men in the Basterds who could pull off undercover work. It meant that when cigarettes started becoming scarcer, he could get priority, safe in the knowledge that smoking would help him blend in and give him a casual façade. And of course, if he was undercover in a bar he simply _had _to have at least one drink, you couldn't wait in a bar and drink nothing after all. It was just after eleven in the morning, but he was still in a bar.

Stiglitz sat across from him; stony-faced and keeping his left hand on his drink. Wicki knew where his other hand was; Stiglitz never did anything without keeping his knife within reach. Raine had decided that two would be better than one this time, varying the formula would keep them from too much suspicion. Although they would have to keep it to the backstreets as much as possible again. It might have been early in the day but Stiglitz might still be recognised by someone with a good eye. Wicki was the higher ranking of the two today. The higher he ranked the less people would pay attention to his colleague.

She was late. And while it wasn't unheard of for a lady to be late, it still didn't make them feel any easier about this. They hadn't seen or heard from their new friend in a week. It had been the arrangement, but for all they knew she was already caught, or dead, or maybe she had gotten scared and run. He wouldn't blame her if she did. But somehow, he didn't think running away was her style.

The doors of the virtually empty bar opened suddenly, and loud laughter filled up the space. Wicki and Stiglitz both couldn't help but straighten up with anticipation.

"Oh, no you don't!" Ellis voice rang out. She playfully pushed the two men who had been trying to chat her up the whole time she walked here back out the door. "My boyfriend will have you dishonourably discharged before you know what hits you."

"Just one little song, de Vries!" one of the men bellowed. He tried to make a grab for her arm. Wicki stood up, instinctively knowing it would have to be him that put them off. The other soldier looked up at him and took notice of his uniform, before elbowing his friend in an attempt to stop him. Her aggressor also looked up and immediately stopped.

"Like I said," she smiled sweetly. "My boyfriend is waiting for me. You should run along before you get me in trouble."

The two men hastily exited without another word, one even giving an apologetic look to a not unamused Wicki.

As soon as the men were gone Ellis' sweet smile vanished. She turned to Wicki and Stiglitz, and coolly walked over.

"You're late," Wicki informed her, returning to his seat. Stiglitz only peered at her from the corner of his eye.

"Can't you see I had trouble?" she said, exasperated already. "I couldn't get rid of those, idiots. Or would you have preferred if they joined us for a drink?"

"You could have left them with me," Stiglitz suggested dangerously. "While you had some alone time with your 'boyfriend'" He looked up at last, giving the same sardonic smile that she had seen before.

"How kind of you," she replied, sitting down across from him. "I see you all have my best interests at heart. "

"Enough," Wicki said. "We need to make this quick. We're out in public in broad daylight after all."

"Where no one expects to see you," she insisted. "And in empty bar before its even noon. The SS are probably not racing here."

"For all we know they are," he countered. "Stiglitz, help her blend in."

Stiglitz dutifully got up and moved to the bar in order to order her a drink. She and Wicki were left alone.

"We still can't be sure we can trust you," Wicki told her flatly.

"You know that _you _can trust me, though," she reminded him. "For the very same reason that you can't stand to talk to me any more than you have to."

She wished Stiglitz wasn't here as well. He may have been her ally in this situation, but she didn't like his presence here today. She had just assumed that it would have been her and Wicki again by themselves. Maybe then she would have been able to gather the courage she needed to say what she really wanted to. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to be alone with her though…

Stiglitz returned to the table and placed a glass of whisky in front of her, before returning to his seat silently. She eyed it with bemusement.

"Jesus," Wicki rolled his eyes. "Stiglitz, don't you think something like champagne or wine would be more appropriate?"

"She'll like this better," Stiglitz shrugged.

She smiled and took the glass in one hand, taking a large gulp. The warm sensation did feel better than the bitter tingle of champagne.

"In any case," Wicki continued, turning back to Ellis "What do have to tell us?"

"Well, it has only been a week," she said. "But lucky for you, the Bobino is very popular with very important people. I've had drinks with several officers and I'm sure I'll be seeing them again soon. I just need to find the right ones to get me into the places I need to be. But so far, I can't help you with much."

She didn't want to bring up her run in with the Gestapo with them. She didn't want to admit how terrified she had been when Hellstrom touched her and how she had run away and cried her eyes out after the whole thing had happened. After that night she had gotten her act together and managed to put her poker face back on. Once again she was able to be all smiles and charm in front of the Germans. Eventually she had even brought herself to flirt with them again. She had to get over whatever trauma she felt; she had a job to do, no matter how much she hated it. She needed to work herself up to be able to do whatever was necessary.

"You need some more time," Wicki agreed.

"Not just that," she told him. "I know these men's names and that they've got some clout but that's all. I still need to find out more. But my people are handling that, and a little alcohol often gets the good details out of them if all else fails. But until that time I can't do much more."

"That's all right," he nodded. "You need to be careful who you get mixed up with. We understand."

"I was thinking though…" she began. There would be no better time to broach the subject than now. "They will tell me where to get my information, but I want to do more than that."

Stiglitz began paying attention. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to say. Raine had planted an idea in her mind, and she wanted it more than she would dare to admit.

"You and your friends want to kill Nazis," she stated. " But you have to take what you find. Tell me who you want. A list of names and if I can get any of them, I will. There's no point in keeping you waiting, these people have to be stopped."

"Are you insane?" Wicki asked her. "You want a hit list?"

"She wants another drink," Stiglitz smiled and got up, moving to the bar again.

"You're really not frightened at all, are you?" he said, once Stiglitz is gone. "Ever since Raine brought it up you've been dying to try it."

"I'm terrified," she snapped. "I'm not like you. I didn't get training in what I do. But you're right; I am dying to try it. That just makes me just like you, doesn't it? You just kill any Nazi you can get, so wouldn't me bringing you someone be helpful then? Your Lt. Raine seems to think so anyway."

Wicki sighed and shook his head. Clearly caution had been thrown to the wind.

"Fine," he finally agreed. "We'll give you names."

"I thought you might try and talk me out of it," she replied. She was surprised that he had given up so quickly. He was the one who had told Raine how dangerous it would be for her. He was the one who seemed to have reservations about the whole arrangement.

"If you're stupid enough to begin luring Nazis to their deaths, then I'm not going to stop you," he informed her. "You can do whatever you like as far I'm concerned. I'm certainly not going to hesitate in killing them."

"Good."

Stiglitz returned to the table and placed another glass in front of her. He sat down, leaning in towards the others. She hadn't wanted the drink, but she took it anyway, deciding it was best not to refuse Stiglitz's strange kindness.

"What are we doing then?" he asked. Wicki could just tell what he was thinking.

"Names," Ellis replied. Taking out a piece of paper from her handbag and pushing it towards Wicki. She then took out her pen and gave it to him. "Write down the names of everyone your group wants. I probably won't be able to get very many but I won't leave you empty handed."

Wicki regarded the blank piece of paper for a few minutes, thinking about whether this was still the best idea or not. She needed to relay information first and foremost, the last thing she needed was for her cover to be blown. If she couldn't get information they would have nothing to give their superiors. Obviously she didn't care about the danger she placed herself in. She could be tortured and killed, and yet she still wanting to bring down as many Nazis as she could.

But he wanted this as well. He wanted to see the men who really deserved to meet the Basterds finally meet them. He wanted to see them crying and cowering in a corner, begging for their life. Just what they deserved.

Stiglitz was just itching for it as well. And while he enjoyed hunting them down, he wanted to see them lured in also. He wanted them to believe they were safe, to feel like they were the king of the world before finally learning that they were sadly mistaken. What could be better than to see the colour drain from their face and the realisation in their eyes? Those smug bastards. How satisfying would it be to drag them down from their high horses kicking and screaming?

"Raine could probably give you more names than we could," Wicki told her honestly.

"I just need somewhere to start," she assured him. "Raine can give the name of anyone else he wants, but I want to bring him something first. He needs to know I'm serious about this."

"I can think of a few," Stiglitz offered. "Kautner. Bauer. Reidel…"

"This isn't a shopping list," she stopped him. "I'm not promising you success. These guys might not go for me at all. Write their names down and I'll try.

Wicki obliged and handed the paper over to Stiglitz, who quickly wrote down as many names as he could think of. He also included their rank to make them easier for her to spot.

"You think about this a lot," she remarked, watching the list grow.

"I think of nothing else," he stated, his voice flat.

"You can't think of anyone?" she asked Wicki. Wicki was also watching Stiglitz list growing bigger. His face was blank of any emotion.

"Don't you have enough?" he responded.

"Its different from you," she told him. "Stiglitz has the enthusiasm. But you're the Jew."

Wicki didn't know what else to say. It was true. Stiglitz loved the work they did, but for Wicki this was personal. This was about survival. He gave her a long considering look, she returned that gaze. She knew he understood but she needed to persuade him to do this.

At last he took the paper back from Stiglitz, and after pausing briefly to consider things he wrote a name down. There were several he could think of, but one in particular sprang to mind. He wanted to write down the name of the one person they had been dreaming of getting for months and yet had been unable to get their hands on. He was famous. Notorious for killing Jews. It was a forlorn hope, but if she could reel in a man like this she would have helped save many lives.

She took the paper from him and began to look at the names on the list. Stiglitz's handwriting was surprisingly neat, and he had written the names of at least ten men for her. It was obvious that he had some unfinished business with many of his fellow countrymen. Wicki on the other hand had only written down one name, and clearly had put a lot of thought into which person that was.

"Hans Landa," she read aloud. It was the only name Wicki had written so this person must have been serious bad news, she thought. She dreaded to think why he had chosen him. Even Stiglitz sat upright again, casting a cautious glance at Wicki. "Who is he?"

"They call him…" Wicki paused. Maybe he shouldn't tell her.

"…The Jew Hunter," Stiglitz finished it for him.

A sinking feeling entered her stomach. _Jew Hunter. _She could imagine the type of man he was. She could also imagine the hundreds of terrified men, women and children cowering and huddled together in their hiding places. She could see them being wrenched from those hiding places and away from each other, trembling and crying. She could hear them…

"All right," she said. "Sounds like a good choice, then."

An hour later Wicki and Stiglitz were on their way back to their camp. Zimmerman was with them this time, having been the one selected to drive and guard the car. Having discarded of the truck a few days earlier they had managed to commandeer an army jeep instead, having gotten rid of the previous owners. Wicki sat in the back, mulling over their meeting today.

Once again they had arranged their next meeting. It was to be a week and half later this time, giving her enough time to find one of the people on their list and to also follow her real orders. She would meet them at the disused square where they had been before, and with her would hopefully be a very unlucky officer. All they had to do was lie in waiting.

He had to admit he still felt uneasy about the whole thing. Maybe he was old fashioned but he hated the thought of putting a woman in this position; to seduce the enemy. It downright made him feel sick. How on earth could she bring herself to do it? Every time one of them touched her skin didn't she feel like a traitor? Could she see the faces of her family? Maybe she could. Maybe that was why she wanted to do this so badly.

He wished he could just forget about this whole thing. Perhaps when they got back Raine would have news of a Nazi patrol somewhere, then they could all leave and focus on the hunt. Getting back down to that primal way of being was the only thing that could wipe his mind completely for a little while. He hated to admit it, but he really needed it now. He was thinking far too much about Ellis de Vries. A woman he had only met twice in earnest, and who had brought up every fear and memory in his mind. He could tell she wanted someone who understood her pain, but it couldn't be him, he couldn't face it. Not while he still had to face the chaos the Germans had created everyday, and not while she was forced to sleep with the enemy.

"I'm looking forward to this," Stiglitz leaned back in his seat, grinning to himself.

No one else spoke for the rest of their journey.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. And thanks again for all your reviews, you may not realise this, but the more supportive and nice you've been the more I've really pushed myself to make this good. If it wasn't for you lot, this story would have been a lot more half-assed. You guys have been my reason to really, really try and do a good job:)

Hopefully the next chapter will see the Basterds getting some more action, and by action I mean ACTION, not the romantic kind (yet...). And yes, Hans Landa is on his way. But he has t make an entrance of course:)


	8. Goodnight, Mr Strasser

Chapter 8 for your reading pleasure. Thank you once again for all the great reviews:) You're the best inspiration and encouragement I could wish for. You'll be pleased to know that this chapter and the following one is heavy on the Basterds. I know I can make things a little Ellis-centric but genuinely the Basterds are not for the background of a story, as these chapters will prove.

No copyright infringement intended. Don't kill me, please.

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It was nearly one in the morning and the air was bitterly cold. Donny stood guard, peering out of the window of one of the abandoned buildings, keeping a weather eye out for any movements. He could see his breath mist in the air before him as he waited impatiently for a sign of life from the square below. So far there had been nothing, not so much as a innocent pedestrian or a stray cat.

He was starting to get antsy. How much longer would they have to wait? They had been here for three hours already. What was taking so long? He had been promised an officer and he damn well wanted that officer. There had been discussions amongst the Basterds over what exactly they would do when they were given the man. Whatever they did, it was going to have to be something special. One thing was for certain though; they were going to have to scare the shit out of as many Germans as they could with him, and all were agreed that Donny should be the one to finish off the unfortunate Nazi.

Donny didn't do scalpings. His job was to put the fear of God into the Nazis through reputation and through the badly battered corpses he left in his wake. But as for the scalpings, he wasn't going to go there. He had been a barber, and hoped to still be one if he ever got home. What if he got back and all he could see any time he cut someone's hair was the scalp of some German being peeled away? No, he wasn't taking that memory home with him. Bashing their brains out, now that's the memory Donny would bring home and keep with him. He wasn't as dumb as everyone might think, he knew what effect scalping would have on him.

Across the square from Donny's window, Utivich kept watch from another building. He was nervous, and kept fidgeting with his gun, unable to keep completely still. What if this was all a trap? Raine and most of the others seemed to trust this girl for the most part, but he still wasn't sure about her at all. For all they knew she could be leading a squad of Germans right to them.

But he tried not to think about that. Raine trusted her, and he trusted Raine. If she did backstab them though, he would make sure she got it. Even if he only had one bullet and a hundred Germans after him, she would get the bullet before he went down.

The plan was simple. She would bring the man to them, and from there he would be taken to the forest. After that Raine was have his usual 'chat' with the officer and they would all do there bit to scare the crap out of him. Then, when they thought he'd had enough Donny would step in and do his part.

Utivich mulled over the plan again and again. It was just business as usual with a new twist really. There would be no bodies of fallen comrades around him in order to frighten him, instead they were going to have to improvise, something that many of them were already looking forward to. As he peered down into the street, Utivich began to wonder when all this violence and killing had become second nature to them? In the army death was a part of life. But at what point did it start becoming just another part of the routine He had always been a quiet and fairly reserved guy, not a wuss or anything, but just normal. But now he could kill someone without a second thought or a moment's hesitation. He even scalped them for God's sake! That didn't seem normal. He wondered if he had changed a lot from the man he used to be. And if he had, would he ever be the same again?

Not that any of that would stop him from doing what he had to do against the Nazis. They had to be stopped. Who were they to decide who was 'racially pure'? Why did anyone have to be racially pure anyway? Its not like anyone can help being born the way they are. Its just random. So who gave these Germans the right to send away thousands upon thousands of innocent people, the old and the young, to these death camps? Why did they force them to live in ghettos or to go into hiding? The pain and the suffering… That was the reason he was here. He just needed to remember it at all times. He wasn't here to kill people. He was here to save them.

Raine was concealed behind some old scaffolding outside of Donny and Utivich's buildings, along with Sakowitz, Wicki and Stiglitz. Zimmerman, Omar and Hirschberg were hidden behind some disused crates and boxes across the square. Kagan was perched on a rooftop on sniper duty, just in case. They had been in place for hours now in the freezing cold. Where on earth was she?

"Godammit," Raine whispered angrily. "Is this woman ever on time? Wicki, you sure she said tonight's the night?"

"Yeah, she said it was," Wicki replied, his voice low as well. "They must still be at the club."

"Thought you said she said the club closed at midnight," Raine was getting more agitated. "That means its been over an hour since she was supposed to be here."

"There must be a problem," Wicki insisted. "She was dead set on doing this."

Stiglitz rolled his eyes behind his comrades' backs. Wicki hated speaking to this woman and was always voicing his reservations about this plan, and yet whenever someone questioned whether she was loyal or actually capable of doing this he was the first to spring to her defence. It was starting to grate on Stiglitz. Either you hate someone or you don't, he thought. Don't run back and forth between the two.

"I don't like it," Raine voiced his displeasure again. "Now if she ain't here in twenty minutes, we is getting the fuck outta here."

"She'll be here," Wicki assured him. "Even if she had no one she would still come to tell us to get out."

He voice sounded certain, but like Raine, he did not like this one bit. She had been far too long. From the Bobino to here was maybe a ten-minute walk. Where on earth could she be? Something must have happened to her. At this very moment she could be in SS custody, in which case they were all in trouble. They would be able to get any information out of her. They would torture her to get it…

Then suddenly a whistle came from Utivich's post, and then subsequently from Donny's. It was their signal, a whistle that sounded just like a birdcall, although Donny hadn't bothered to try and master it, so his just sounded like a whistle.

Sure enough, a moment later Raine and the others could hear voices coming closer. They both spoke German, and one voice sounded distinctly familiar. It was them. Ellis had managed to do it. Instinctively they all crouched down farther, waiting for Raine's signal to move. It was show time.

Ellis playfully pulled on the arm of Heinrich Strasser, a fifty-something overweight officer who had been one of Stiglitz's top choices. Getting him to cooperate was not a problem anymore, he had been plied with enough wine to completely loosen him up, all she had to do know was get him to the meeting spot without falling over too much.

She hadn't been able to find the one Wicki wanted, much to her own disappointment, but Stiglitz had managed to write down enough names for her to find at least three potential sacrifices. She decided to keep an eye on all three in order to see which one was the most suitable candidate. Strasser had more than proven himself after one evening he had pinched her backside so many times she thought it may actually bleed. He was truly a sleazy, horrible man. Having worked in dozens of clubs and revues over the years she had come across her fair share of horrible men, but this man was certainly up there with the best of them.

But she had to be careful. If he was seen leaving with her tonight and then found dead the next day the game would be up. She had to be more shrewd in her dealings than that. When the club had closed she had followed him home along with all of his companions, who fortunately for her were blind drunk as well. They were so inebriated that she was even able to sneak into their building with them, temporarily propping up a falling man as they passed a guard. He had been too out of it to even notice her holding onto him. After that they had all gone to their bedrooms one by one. Leaving it for a few minutes she then knocked on Strasser's door. After a few moments of cursing and fumbling he had opened the door, pleasantly surprised to see that she was in fact a vision in red, rather than one of his friends.

After that, it was child's play. She fed him a couple of lines like 'I couldn't stop thinking about you' and 'I just had to see you again' for effect, and had managed to coax him out of his room in order to follow her somewhere where they could 'be alone' and not disturbed. Out the back door they went then, trying to avoid being detected. She had succeeded.

Now they were here. As they approached the square she had stopped listening to his drunken rambling, barely coherent as it was. She kept her eyes forward, leading him closer and closer. Once they reached the square she let go of him, choosing instead to walk in front of him. She walked as far as the broken fountain and sat down on the edge, staring right at him.

Strasser could barely see, let alone walk properly, but he stumbled forward towards her regardless. Looking up, the suggestive smile she had given him the entire night was gone. Her face was devoid of any feeling or warmth. He may have been drunk but she was starting to look less and less attractive. In fact, right now it looked like there was something very wrong with her. He had thought she had been staring at him, but now that he was closer he could see that her eye line was a little more to the side of him, like she was looking at something behind him.

He felt something at his shoulder, like someone had tapped it to get his attention. He turned around to see what on earth it could be. All he saw then was a brief glimpse of somebody strangely familiar to him before he felt a quick, hard hit to the side of his face. After that he didn't see anything else.

"Nicely done," Raine called out, moving out from the shadows it seemed. "Deliveries a little late, but we s'pose you tried your best."

"Fuckin' A!" Donny yelled, running over. He had quickly abandoned his post once Stiglitz had knocked Strasser out. "Would you get a load of this fat fuck?"

"Heinrich Strasser," Stiglitz informed them. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking down at the man he had just knocked unconscious. He had wanted Strasser in particular. There shared history had seen one humiliation after another at Stiglitz's expense. Strasser had never liked him, from day one he had it in for him. And as a result Stiglitz now had in it for Strasser. In fact, he had been heading towards Strasser's quarters when he had been caught that fateful night. He had been so close.

"Stiglitz," Raine addressed him. He didn't respond. "Jesus, you'd swear it was Christmas the way you's smilin'."

"What now?" Ellis piped up, not wanting to be forgotten. "What are you waiting for? He's out. Finish the job."

"Now hold on there, little miss," Raine cautioned her. "We kill him now then he ain't gonna get what he deserves. And if we give him what he deserves then he's gonna make a lotta noises. So we're gonna have to take him with us for the time being, just in case we wake the neighbours, you know."

"Then lets go," she said impatiently.

"Not you," Wicki informed her coldly. "Omar will take you back to Montparnasse and then we'll take Strasser with us."

"Not a chance," she snapped at him. "I got him for you. I'm seeing it through to the end."

"I'm afraid not, Ellie," Raine interjected. "You done yourself proud. Hell, you done us proud. But you're not gonna want to see what happens next."

"You clearly don't know what I want, then," she replied sharply, turning back to Raine.

"I don't doubt you wanna see him get his comeuppance . But the way we do things ain't pretty."

"Is killing someone ever 'pretty'?"

She couldn't believe this. She had brought them a high-ranking officer just like they had wanted, and now they planned to freeze her out completely. They obviously had no idea what she had had to do in order to get this man's attention. He had been all over every girl he could get his hands on, she needed to work hard to keep him focused enough on her so that he didn't run off with some chorus girl when she wasn't looking. This Nazi who spent his time spending human life like it was money. That's all it was to him after all; just money. And then at nights he would sleep soundly. More than that, he would go out and squander his blood money, telling himself that he deserved a 'treat' for working so hard. She wanted to see him be the victim this time.

"Nope, it ain't," Raine agreed. "But generally people like to do it quick and clean. Man like this, we ain't gonna be doin' that."

"Do you really think I'm going to lose sleep over this?" she asked him. "The things in my head aren't going to be replaced by him." She pointed at Strasser. "This 'fat fuck', as you said. We're either in this completely together, or not at all. And you can tell your superiors I will give them nothing either if that's the case."

The others had joined them by this stage. There were a few delighted comments at the sight of Strasser's seemingly lifeless body. They were like men who had just taken down a lion. They were not thinking about what she had done in order to achieve this result. She remained staring at Raine, not backing down.

"Fine," Raine eventually conceded. "I understand you 'invested' a lot into this, so you get to see. But… that means you don't get to look away neither. This man's last moment has got to be looking in the eyes of people who want him to die. You look away, you're gonna make him think otherwise. He don't deserve that humanity."

"Fine," she nodded. "You will have my undivided attention."

"Are you sure?" Wicki asked Raine apprehensively.

"Can't argue with a woman," Raine slapped him on the back. "You ain't never gonna win."

Minutes later the Basterds had bundled Strasser into the back of yet another stolen truck. In no time they were headed out of the city and into the darkened countryside. Raine, Kagan and Stiglitz were in the front of the truck, Raine had understandably not trusted Stiglitz to keep his hands to himself on the journey back. The rest sat in the trailer section, along the sides with Strasser lying at their feet. He hadn't woken up yet, in fact he hadn't even moved. Zimmerman occasionally had to check if he was still even breathing.

"We're good," he confirmed after checking again. "That Kraut of ours has one heck of an arm though. This guys out cold."

"Let's just hope he stays out," Hirschberg added, almost sounding giddy. "That means when he wakes up in the forest surrounded by nothing but us, he'll really be fucking scared."

"You're obviously one hell of a doll," Omar said to Ellis, who was sitting beside him. "He really didn't see it coming."

"He was completely drunk," she insisted. "He would followed you if you were in a dress."

"Nah, he ain't got the legs," Hirschberg joked.

"Who is this guy again?" Donny asked her, across from both Omar and Ellis. "Stiglitz totally let him have it."

"I don't know," she admitted. "Heinrich Strasser. Just a name on a piece of paper."

"They must've had some fucking run in, though," Donny was smiling.

He couldn't wait for this. Killing dozens of infantrymen was always good, and their commanding officer was usually quick to follow. But this was a real major player, someone with a bit of power. You didn't get to that position in the Nazi regime without being one nasty son of a bitch.

"How'd you do it, though?" Utivich asked a few moments later out of the blue. He was also sitting across from Ellis, and had been keeping a still sceptical eye on her.

"I told you," Ellis replied, not impressed with his obvious mistrust. "He was drunk. He didn't need much persuasion."

"Utivich," Wicki said in a warning tone. "Leave it alone."

"And that's it?" Utivich pressed on regardless. He remained staring straight at her. He found it hard to believe that someone so high up in the military wasn't careful enough to know better than to trust a pretty face, drunk or not. A woman turns up to your door, having somehow gotten through a security checkpoint in the middle of the night and tells you to go with her to the middle of nowhere. How did he not even feel a little suspicious? How deep did she really go into this?

"Smithy, drop it," Omar asked him. He had believed that they had all individually decided not to go into the details of Ellis job. He certainly had anyway. They all knew, but it was best to leave it unsaid. If anything it was only polite.

"I didn't fuck him, if that's what you're asking," she snapped at Utivich, staring right back at him. She didn't appreciate his being suspicious of her. If he knew just how sick or scared she got sometimes he wouldn't question her like this. She felt so angry with him that she nearly could cry. But she knew better at she kept any tears back.

The trailer area fell deathly silent as Utivich and Ellis remained staring at each other. Ellis was furious, and Utivich too embarrassed in order to bring himself to look away. It was an awkward moment for everyone. No one wanted to say anything. Several minutes of this embarrassed silence passed. Even Donny of all people seemed ashamed of Utivich right now.

"I don't blame you, " Omar said nervously to her at last, deciding that the silence was just too uncomfortable and the tension needed to be broken. "This guy is huge. You'd get crushed."

Wicki cringed. How the hell could Omar even say something like that? Him and his big mouth. The others also looked at him, shocked. They may have been hardened army men at this stage, but their mothers had still taught them better than that.

Ellis didn't say anything for a moment, before she burst out laughing.

"That is disgusting!" she exclaimed. She wasn't laughing because it was funny though, her mind and body just wanted to react to something properly for once. She couldn't show it when she was scared or upset. Everything had to be bottled up inside, but now something had to give. She laughed and couldn't stop herself.

Then the others all started laughing, clearly feeling something along a similar line. The laughter became very loud, and suddenly they also found it hard to stop. Ellis even had to wipe away some tears as her eyes watered from laughing, but she still couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop, the laughing felt good. And she really needed to feel good right now.

The only too people who weren't laughing were Utivich and Wicki. Utivich still felt embarrassed and a little ashamed of himself for getting so out of line. He still didn't trust her fully, but there was a time a place for stuff like that, and if anything he should have voiced his concerns to Raine and Raine only. He looked over to where Wicki was sitting, just across from him and beside Omar. He was looking back at Utivich, not smiling.

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Okay, I hope you liked that one as well because there is more on the way! Hopefully chapter 9 will be up before the night is out:) A bit fast you may think, but I really want to squeeze another in before I start back at college tomorrow, as that will mean I'm going to get busier and will have less free time for fanfics:( Landa is coming, as promised. But some re-thinking of the story has led me to believe he should arrive in a little while, and not just yet. He's going to be a tough one to write, after all.

Thank you all for being lovely and reading this!!!


	9. Stiglitz's Revenge

Chapter 9 is here, and because it might be a day or so before I get another chapter up here I made it long again (I just can't help myself!). I have to warn you though, this one gets quite graphic and is very Stiglitz-centric i.e there is a lot of violence. But torture and murder are very dark and disturbing things and I feel that watching or reading something about them should never be comfortable. I'm not condoning or encouraging violence in any form against anyone, but Inglourious Basterds is a film about the Nazis getting a taste of their own medicine after all the pan and suffering they caused, and Zwartboek is about how life becomes cheapened in times of war, and this chapter is very much in keeping with those two films. The character of Strasser is a very bad man who has done horrible things to a lot of people, just keep that in mind please. The rating of this story will be raised due to this story, please bear that in mind when looking it up again.

No copyright infringement intended.

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Heinrich Strasser awoke to find himself in very unfamiliar territory. From the coldness of the air he could only surmise that he was outdoors, and once his vision had stopped being blurred he could see that trees surrounded him. It was still very dark, telling him that it was still night time. His head was splitting with pain and he felt sick to his stomach. The amount he had drunk last night was coming back to haunt him now.

"Hey!" a voice called from close by. "Guess who just woke up?"

The voice had spoken in English. That wasn't normal. Why on earth would someone be speaking English here? He then came to frightening realisation. Not only was he not alone, the people surrounding him were not Germans. Looking up he saw a young woman wearing a red dress, completely out of place in this woodland setting, standing nearby. She was the singer from the club, he remembered that. A Dutch girl. He also had vague memories of seeing her outside of his room in the barracks. Then he remembered something about dark, winding streets. Finally the last thing he remembered was her expressionless face staring back at him before everything went black.

He sat up on the cold dirty ground. Her expression had not changed from the last time he remembered seeing her face. The was no feeling or emotion in it, and she was staring at him coldly. He was becoming only vaguely aware that there were other people there as well, surrounding them. She had tricked him. She had drugged him and made him vulnerable, and now she and whatever thugs she worked with were going to use him as ransom.

"You fucking bitch," he snarled at her in German, his voice cracking. "You slut!"

She remained silent, and as still as a statue. This man could not provoke her. Nothing he could say would move her in any way.

"Ill hang you for this, you fucking whore!"

"Now, I ain't got an inkling of what you just said," a voice came in English. From his left hand side a man stepped into view, dressed in peasants' clothes and speaking with some sort of ridiculous accent. He stood beside the woman and faced Strasser. He was about as American as you could get.

"But I'm pretty sure that ain't no way to talk to a lady."

"What is this?" Strasser spat in English. "Where am I and who the fuck are you?"

"Now, there you go with that dirty mouth of ours again," the strange American said, shaking his head at Strasser. "What will we do with you?"

"Gut him like a fish," Ellis suggested, unable to hide the venom in her own voice.

"That's one suggestion," Raine considered.

"Hang from the nearest tree," came another voice from beside Strasser. The voice came from a small but intense looking man. "But don't let him drop so his neck don't snap before he chokes."

"How about put his head into the river?" another voice suggested from the other side of the small man. This time the voice belonged to another small looking man. "And then take it out, and put it back in, and take it out and put back in again and again."

"We could always use our bare hands," a man said behind him. He moved in front of him. This man was thin looking and tall.

"But what about my knife?" another man walked beside the skinny one, he looked slightly older than the others. "And don't you forget my gun either."

"How about it then?" Raine interrupted and moved in front of them, standing just inches away from Strasser. "I mean he's a big target, Zimmerman. And he don't look like he's gonna run all that fast."

"Who are you?" Strasser asked, noticeably more nervous.

"Who are we?" Raine repeated. "Now you simply had to have heard of us."

Strasser thought for a moment. They were all American so far, except for the Dutch whore. There was one possibility, but it didn't bare thinking about.

"You're the Apache," he said after a moments thought. He wouldn't let these stupid Americans think he was afraid of them. The men around him laughed when he said this, Raine merely looked amused. "And these are your Jewish rats."

"Jews?" Raine sounded surprised. "What Jews? Any of you boys Jews? Utivich? Sakowitz? Hirschberg? What about you, Zimmerman?"

The men whooped and hollered loudly.

"Me too," Ellis purred, making sure she moved into Strasser's line of sight.

"Well, I'll be," Raine exclaimed, turning back to the German. "Don't you just hate bein' the odd one out?"

Suddenly Omar, Kagan and Wicki made their appearances beside Utivich and Hirschberg on either side of Strasser. Each of them wore a satisfied looking smirk on their faces.

"Now don't tell me y'all are Jews too?" Raine asked, mock sincere. He returned his attention back to Strasser again. "Well, ain't that something? Seems like your boys missed a couple of them. Oh well, can't get 'em all, can you?"

"These are the Basterds then," Strasser replied, trying to sound suitably unimpressed. "A bunch of renegades who hide in the woods and have a woman do their dirty work for them." He shot a hateful glance at Ellis. "A rotten trick by a filthy Jewish slut."

"From what I can tell, the only filthy thing 'round here is that mouth of yours," Raine cautioned him. "You'll offend her sensitivities, if you ain't careful. And we won't stand for that sort of thing. How's your head by the way? From the looks of it you was really enjoyin' yourself last night."

"I'm not scared of you," Strasser sneered. "You and these Jewish vermin may kill a few good German soldiers, but you will be destroyed when our Reich achieves it's final victory. All of Europe will be cleansed of your kind and will be under the control of our great Führer, Adolf Hitler!"

"Well, congratulations," Raine replied. "On learning how to speak like an idiot, that is."

The Basterds laughed again. Nazis always got so pompous when they were scared. That's when you knew you really had them running, when they started talking like the villain out of a storybook. Raine kneeled down in front Strasser in order to meet his eye.

"But seriously," Raine continued. "You must feel pretty darn left out being the only German with all these darn Jews hanging around the place. How's about we get an old friend of yours out here to keep you company?"

"Old friend?" he asked. Raine looked over Strasser's shoulder and nodded. He then heard the sound of someone moving behind him. Raine got up and moved away from him, standing back with Sakowitz and Zimmerman, still smiling at Strasser. Slow footsteps moved from behind him to alongside him. He didn't dare look up, suddenly feeling a lot more intimidated. The man eventually moved in front of him. Strasser looked up.

"Oberstgruppenführer Strasser," Stiglitz smiled. "Remember me?"

Remember Hugo Stiglitz? How on earth could anyone forget him? Amongst the German soldiers no man could have been more infamous. But Strasser also had very vivid memories of Stiglitz. He had been a nightmare when he had enlisted back in Frankfurt. Insolent, vindictive and impatient. Rarely a week passed when he had not been brought before Strasser for one misdemeanor or another. He had begged his commanding officer to discharge Stiglitz countless times, but the reply had always been no. Stiglitz beat every other man enlisted with him when it came to the field. Whether it was guns, knives or brute force, no one could touch Stiglitz, and he had no qualms in taking as many lives as he needed. Sadly for Strasser that meant he was a valuable commodity to their growing army. Any insolent behavior could be ignored as long as Stiglitz delivered when it counted.

Fortunately for Strasser though, Stiglitz's bad record kept him from promotion and he was often enduring punishment while the rest of his platoon enjoyed their downtime. Throughout the ranks it had been no secret that the two men hated it each other. But Strasser was the commander and Stiglitz was forced to obey to a certain degree.

But Stiglitz had found a way to get at Strasser. The inspiration hitting him one day out of the blue whilst Strasser was off enjoying leave with his family. He had discovered a whole new way in which to hurt him in a way that few others could, and it had worked. By the time they had all been sent to France, Strasser had a whole new set of reasons to hate Stiglitz.

But this time Strasser would not take it lying down. Shortly after arriving in France, Stiglitz discovered that Strasser and several others had conspired to claim that he was intending to desert. That had been the last straw. Stiglitz had known he stood no chance in a court martial, the officers would make sure of that. So before he could even be arrested and charged Stiglitz did desert, only to return in the middle of the night to punish all the men he could find who had crossed him during his time in the army. He nearly succeeded as well, except that Strasser knew to protect himself once Stiglitz disappeared. The trap was set and he was caught.

"Stiglitz," Strasser couldn't even pretend to hide his anxiety now. "I should have known this was your kind of operation. It suits you down to the ground."

"Wicki," Raine called over to him. "You're gonna have to translate this for us later. It sounds good."

"Will do, Lieutenant," Wicki replied, transfixed like everyone else on the two Germans' interactions.

"I'm going to enjoy this," Stiglitz told Strasser. "I've wanted to do this for a very long time, as you can imagine."

"How can you even live with yourself?" Strasser yelled now. "Not only are you the poorest excuse for a soldier I have ever met, but now you betray your own people. Your country. Your Reich. Even your Führer!"

"Don't worry I'll get him too if I can," Stiglitz assured him. "But since we have history I'll let you be first."

"You soulless, spineless bastard! Look at you. You are a slave to the Americans!"

"No more a slave than every other German is to that Austrian idiot. The difference is; I like what I do. I'd do this for free. In fact, I'd pay them to let me do this."

"Some life, Stiglitz." Strasser shook his head. "Your life is all about death."

"Whereas your life is all about money. And when you get the chance, it's also about drinking and fucking. But you have to pay for both of those too, I suppose."

"There will come a time when you will be torn limb from limb…"

"Me on the other hand, while I have to pay for my drinks, I certainly don't have to pay to fuck…"

"You will dragged through the streets…"

"Just ask your daughter."

And with that the fat, fifty-something Strasser exploded. He lunged forward and attempted to wrap his hands around Stiglitz's neck. Stiglitz merely stepped out of the way and laughed as his former commanding officer landed hard on the ground beside him. He grabbed onto the back of Strasser's shirt collar and threw him backwards.

The Basterds went wild at this, cheering and laughing as Stiglitz proceeded to lay into the big man. Strasser was now screaming profanities and insults. Raine instructed Wicki to pay extra attention now, he wanted a full translation of this. Stiglitz spent the next few minutes pummelling Strasser with punches and kicks, and then choking him until he nearly lost consciousness before knocking the wind out of his stomach to waken him up. He was enjoying doing this with his bare hands. Strasser tried to fight back as he much as he could, flailing and grabbing onto Stiglitz, but all to no avail. Stiglitz was younger, stronger and born to kill, Strasser had no chance. His aggressor was no longer smiling, but had his brow furrowed with deep intent and concentration.

After a while he let up. Strasser could now only moan and whimper, badly beaten and barely awake. Stiglitz was breathing heavily, but he was not done. He pulled Strasser up as much as he could and laid him against a tree. Strasser promptly vomited. The rest of the Basterds yelled in a mixture of disgust and delight.

"Please…" Strasser rasped. He didn't want to die. He was afraid and he was in the worst pain of his life. He hated Stiglitz more than any other man in this world and the thought of begging him for his life sickened him more than anything. But he didn't want to die.

"What was that?" Stiglitz asked, almost laughing as he said it.

"Please… Anything, just please…" Strasser could barely even speak.

Stiglitz smile faded. Slowly he approached a whimpering, crying Strasser. He knelt down in front of him and looked him directly in the eye. Strasser flinched instinctively. There was something different in Stiglitz's eyes now. The hatred and venom didn't seem to be there anymore. In all his years he had never seen Stiglitz look like this… as though he was capable of mercy. He felt frightened.

"Please…" he repeated.

Stiglitz put one hand on Strasser's shoulder. Then still looking him in the eye, his malevolent smirk returned.

"No," he whispered. He got up and turned away from Strasser again. He pulled his large knife from its holster and held it up. Strasser let out a despairing sob. Stiglitz was loving this. One of the men he hated the most in this world was sobbing at his feet. He had begged for his life. It was all he had hoped for and more.

"You," he addressed Ellis, still in German. "This was your gift to me. Tell me, did he put his hands on you?"

Ellis was shocked that Stiglitz had addressed her in the midst of his revenge. And what's more, that he had asked her a question. She had mixed feelings about this beating Strasser was receiving. She was absolutely sure that he deserved it beyond the shadow of a doubt, but watching one man pulverise another was not easy viewing. If anything, it made her even more frightened of Stiglitz. But she had asked to be here, and she would not let herself down. She would watch, it was her job to watch so that Strasser knew that there would be no sympathy for him here.

"Yes," she replied to Stiglitz. She was keeping any discomfort she felt locked down. No one who saw her would have sensed any hesitation or compunction from her at all. Stiglitz merely turned back to Strasser and shook his head.

"Disgusting," he said to him. He knelt down beside him this time, and pinned Strasser's right wrist to the ground. Strasser tried feebly to pull away.

"You should keep your hands to yourself."

And with that he plunged the knife through Strasser's hand. Strasser erupted into a painful, terrible scream, his body twisting and twitching limply in agony. The Basterds kept up their support for Stiglitz, cheering him on and mocking Strasser further. There would be no one here letting the side down. Stiglitz then got up, went to his other hand and did the same thing again. Strasser screamed again, but this time it was weaker and his voice cracked. He had no more strength to even cry out.

Discarding the knife, Stiglitz grabbed a hold of Strasser's grey hair and pulled his head back.

"Do you want me to stop it?" Stiglitz whispered in his ear. "Do you want all the pain to end?"

Tears ran down Strasser's bloodied face. He could take no more. His mind was shutting down and hardly anything was coherent to him anymore. All he could feel was the pain that throbbed in every part of his body. It was enough, there would be no life beyond this. He wanted it to just end.

"Do you want me to end your suffering?" Stiglitz repeated.

"Yes," he croaked, tears still flowing down his cheeks.

"Too bad," Stiglitz smirked. He let go of Strasser and picked up his knife. But instead of continuing his torment of Strasser he stood up and walked over to Raine. He handed him the knife, which Raine readily accepted.

"We got ourselves a little trademark, here in the Basterds," Raine informed a barely conscious Strasser. "The one's we let live, get a reminder of their bein' a Nazi. But the one's we don't let live, we get to keep a little souvenir from them."

He walked towards him, stopping only inches away from him again.

"Now, we all know that you ain't gonna live," he told him. "First off, we couldn't let you because you know about Ellie here, and that just ain't safe. But after a poundin' like that, well let's just say, it won't be an issue."

"Since you know about Aldo the Apache," he continued. "I'm presumin' that you also heard of the Bear Jew. Well, that Bear Jew is about to do you one hell of a favour and do what Stiglitz here wasn't nice enough to do. Put you out of your misery."

Stiglitz was still unsmiling, not yet out of his murderous frame of mind. But that was not to say he wasn't satisfied. Strasser had gotten what was coming to him. Evil old man. He would get exactly what every Nazi would get; an untimely and brutal end.

"Anything you want to say," Raine concluded. "You better say it now."

Strasser would not die a shivering, weeping mess in front of these rotten Jews and this sorry excuse for a soldier. He began to take deep gulping breaths, which burned in his lungs, causing him only more pain.

"Fuck you!" he cried out with every ounce of strength he could muster. "Our Reich will last a thousand years. You all will die at German hands!"

"Nicely said," Raine smiled.

"Donny!" he yelled. "Get your ass over here and contribute."

And with that Donny appeared; The famous Bear Jew whose name was whispered amongst the German soldiers. The man who was sometimes thought of by the more suspicious men to be a Golem created to destroy them. His eyes looked black to Strasser and he could hear the voices of the others cheering him on.

Donny raised his bat high while staring down at the fallen Oberstgruppenführer Strasser. Beside him stood Stiglitz, waiting and watching for the end.

The end came swiftly then. There was pain and there was no more pain.

Raine moved forward to inspect the dead man. His skull was now too cracked to be scalped, but he would still be able to leave his mark like he always did. And that was all that mattered now; how to get the message across.

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Wow, very dark place now. I enjoyed writing this chapter, but God, I feel like a sadist. Like I said, this chapter is probably going to push the rating up, as it is quite disturbing in places I think. But violence should disturb us, we should never feel completely okay with it after all.

Thank you for all your reviews and comments, you are the fuel to the fire for this story. I hope this chapter engages you like the others seem to have.

Thank you:)


	10. Everybody's Fine

Back again! I'm going to try and update this at least on a bi-weekly basis, maybe three a week if I get the time. You'll definitely get one before the weekends out anyway, I'll try for two though. Also I've changed the rating back to T again, previously I had been concerned I'd get into trouble for having it too low, but after reading the last chapter again I don't think its anything people can't handle. Knowing me though I'll have to change it again at some stage:)

As per usual I own nothing at all. Nada. Not a thing.

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The deed was done. Stiglitz and Donny had impressively dispatched of their prey, and now Raine had left his mark upon the remains. Now the question as where to leave the body was all that was left. What remained of Strasser may have been beaten to near pulp, but it would still take a few men to lift his hefty frame. A short discussion had taken place amongst the Basterds as to what to do, and it had been decided that it would be best to leave it somewhere the Nazis could easily find it, but hopefully wouldn't be found by innocent passers-by. There was an airfield not too far away that was now used by the Germans that would do nicely.

Since Stiglitz and Donny had both already 'contributed' to the nights festivities they were off duty, and as such would not be called upon to lug their dirty work off to its destination. Instead Raine roped in Sakowitz, Zimmerman and Utivich for the job. After a few minutes of grunt work the cargo had been loaded into the truck again, this time pointedly messier, and the group set off to their destination, wary that the approaching dawn would mean taking extra precautions. Ellis remained behind with the rest of the Basterds, deciding she didn't really want to look anymore. She hadn't flinched, just like they had asked her too, but she had had enough for one night. As the night began to fade away she finally felt tired, well and truly tired.

The others were also feeling exhausted from the nights events. Hirschberg wasted no time in calling it a night, and heading over to their sleeping area. The others still felt too restless to sleep. However tired they may feel they would not be able to sleep just yet.

Stiglitz sat down against the tree he had placed Strasser against only minutes ago, aware that bloody markings surrounded him. He had been waiting to do that for years. He had put the fear of God into Strasser and then destroyed him. All the years of having to do exactly as that fat old man had told him to do, and all the countless humiliations he had suffered at his hands had finally been paid back in earnest. How satisfying had it been to see that smug, pompous bastard die like the dog he really was. There would more retribution like that. All those self-serving, arrogant, condescending officers would feel the same pain and terror, and Stiglitz would be the one responsible for it.

Nearby Donny was pacing back and forth, still on a high from his 'home-run'. His bat was still in his hand as he moved quickly, muttering to himself, still psyching himself up despite the action being over.

Ellis observed them, as she now sat on an old log some distance away, weary from everything that had happened. Stiglitz terrified her, but he seemed somewhat at peace now, at least for the moment. He was staring blankly ahead, his mind clearly far off. He didn't notice her looking at him. Neither did Donny really. He was a ball of frantic energy still. She had always thought of him as being a hardened soldier, fully committed to killing in the name of his cause. But when he had finally beaten the life from Strasser's body he was not without feeling. She had seen it, his eyes full of rage and his wild ranting. For him this wasn't duty, it was payback". He felt something very dark and deep inside when he killed Nazis, and she reasoned he probably had never felt anything as strongly as he felt when he did this. Did he do this purely out of a sense of justice, or so he could feel that surge again? It was pure emotion.

Right now, she didn't know how she felt. Her head was tired and unable to focus on any one feeling too long. She was swimming in every thought possible at this moment. Everything and nothing preoccupied her. Was this what it was like to be a Basterd then? Is this how it felt to kill somebody? After all, the blood was just as much on her hands as it was on Stiglitz's or Donny's. She wasn't sorry though, she knew that much. Was it wrong not to be sorry?

"Ellis?" a voice came from beside her. She looked up to see who it was, still unable to make sense of her maze of thoughts. It was Wicki.

"Ellis, are you all right?" he sounded more cautious than concerned for her.

"I'm fine," she told him. "Just tired."

"You shouldn't be," he said.

"I haven't had any sleep in nearly twenty-four hours," she said defensively. "Of course I feel tired."

"You shouldn't feel fine after that," he replied. He looked stoic, just like always.

"Oh," she said, a bit taken aback by this. "Well, you seem to be coping just fine as well."

"This is what I do. And I do it a lot," he informed her. "I'm used to by now. But… that doesn't mean I don't wonder about it sometimes. It's okay not to be fine right now."

"I don't feel guilty. I don't regret doing this and I don't regret what I saw," she assured him. "Maybe you don't want to hear that, it doesn't say a lot about my character I'll admit. But if you want to know the truth, I'll tell you. I've seen far worse than that."

He didn't reply. She wasn't been defensive now, and she wasn't even really upset. Maybe she could handle this better than he had thought. She was speaking bluntly and without much feeling. No, she didn't feel anything for the dead man, but she didn't seem happy either. If anything, she looked dissatisfied. It would have been normal to look away, even Raine wouldn't have really held it against her, but she hadn't budged.

"Why does it matter?" she asked him. "This is just business as usual."

"Not for you," he replied. "But you really are messed up enough to not even flinch while watching something like that."

Now she was the not to respond. She didn't like the idea that Wicki, and the rest of these men, found her to be some sort of disturbing anomaly. True, her reaction to the night's events probably wasn't entirely normal. But in truth, nothing she could have watched would ever eclipse all she had experienced. She wasn't the ice queen that she was trying to portray, but something's were still so raw that she could feel little else.

"I'm not heartless, if that's what you're thinking," she told him. She was far from it fact. She felt a lot more than she should, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"No, you're not," he replied, deciding at last to sit down alongside her. "But you're very proud. I suppose that you have to be to some extent, to do what you do."

"Maybe… I don't know."

They fell into another silence. Wicki thought it wasn't unlike when they had first met, and shared those unhappy secrets. Whatever pseudo-friendly working relationship they may have struck up had been ruined by that brief conversation. Too much and too soon, that was the problem. The things that sprang to Wicki's mind when she was around were unpleasant, and he realised that he had been more abrupt then he should have been because of it. It was uncalled for, he knew, but he didn't know how he could be any different. He admired her, quite a lot in fact, but he could never indicate that he felt like that.

"I thought it would be different," she finally admitted, breaking the silence. Her voice still gave no indication of feeling. She looked at Wicki, trying to engage with him on this. "I knew it wouldn't make me feel any better. I wasn't after comfort. But I thought it would be more satisfying."

"I know," Wicki sighed. "You like seeing them get what's coming to them. But once it's done, you realise there's a million more men like them, and they will just keep doing what they've been doing all along regardless." He was the one sounding tired now. "Its disheartening, to say the least."

"Do you think it will ever end?" she asked him. "The war. Or will there always be more Nazis needing their heads cracked open?"

"I don't know," he laughed slightly. "There have always been wars and they always end one way or another, don't they? I can't speak for the Nazis though."

"You never see it coming though," she shrugged. "War. You see the signs, but you always think that we've learned our lesson. But then it happens. It's… strange."

"Your family," he interjected, unable to stop himself. "How did it happen?"

He knew it probably wasn't very tactful to start talking about this, but curiosity got the best of him. He needed to know more. It would probably cause more sleepless nights, and painful wondering, but he felt compelled to learn.

She exhaled. Where to begin?

"My hiding place was destroyed," she started, deciding not to go into great detail. "I was told there was boat bringing Jews secretly into Belgium. So I decided to and got whatever money I could. Then my family was there. I hadn't seen them in 2 years and I didn't think they would be there. But they were. We got on the boat and we left. But it was a trap and I was the only one who got out."

"Did you get the people responsible?"

"Not really. We got the man who had brought us all to the boat. But no one else."

"I'm sorry," he couldn't say anything else.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Me too."

Ellis contemplated that fateful night. What she had just seen Stiglitz do was brutal and shocking, but nothing would compare to that night. Wicki thought of his own family. He tried so hard not to think of them that often, but now he felt guilty again; guilty for leaving, and guilty for trying to forget.

"I remember…" she began again, unsure how she could phrase what she wanted to say, or even if she should. "… I remember seeing them get shot. They all looked like rag dolls, like they were dancing before they all fell down. They weren't even people anymore."

She suddenly gave a little gasp, finding it more difficult to breathe. Warm tears filled her eyes and streamed down her face. She didn't sob hysterically like she thought she would when she finally gave into tears. Instead the tears were just coming out and she was unable to stop. There was no hysterics. Immediately she began to wipe them away, not wanting to cry in front of a group of men, especially these men. She didn't want anyone thinking that this might be remorse for Strasser, but she still was unable to stop.

"Ellis?" Wicki had noticed. "Ellis, are you all right?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you anything."

"No, no," she insisted, trying to dismiss his concerns. "It's fine. Its normal. Don't worry." She continued to wipe her eyes and damp face. "Just get my cigarettes, I think I could use one." She tried to laugh, but it didn't work.

Wicki obliged, picking up her bag from beside her and taking out her cigarette case and the matches. She took one from him and lit it up, her hands trembling lightly. He took one for himself, holding it up in order to ask her permission silently. She nodded and he lit up as well. He returned his hand to her shoulder, unable to think of anything else to do or say. She wasn't sure which comforted her more, the smoking or his hand.

"Smokes!" Kagan suddenly appeared nearby. "Come on, don't hold out on me."

He caught sight of a puffy faced Ellis and immediately froze.

"Is she…?" he began.

"She's fine," Wicki cut him off angrily. Ellis threw a cigarette at him, giving him a sheepish smile.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "But if anyone asks I'm out of them."

Kagan hurried off, clearly embarrassed. It was always awkward to see a girl cry, but what the hell was he supposed to do or say in this situation. They had just someone be beaten to death after all, you can hardly tell somebody everything's going to be okay after something like that?

"He couldn't get out of here fast enough," she remarked, finally calming down and gaining some control again. "I think I know how we can get rid of the Germans now."

Wicki laughed. She seemed to feel better, but he was still a bit wary of things. He felt uncomfortable, but more so he hated to see her like this. Whatever negative thoughts their interactions may have brought about, he had admired how in control she had always managed to remain. But he understood. Of all the people he here he got it.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "It wasn't any of my business, and this certainly was not the time or the place."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I understand why you want to know. You probably did me a favour anyway… although my make-up is ruined now."

Wicki's hand was still on her shoulder, but she didn't want to admit how much it was helping. He was being the strong and mostly silent type. She was becoming far too fond of Wilhelm Wicki, she knew it, and she was kicking herself for it. It couldn't be love, but it was the same gravitational pull it always was. She always fell for someone, more for comfort than actual love she felt. It was in her nature to be so foolish. And what happened to men who got involved with her? The last two were dead now, Rob on the boat, Müntze from the firing squad. And yet she was still deluding herself again, connecting her misery with his. That was no way to start anything with anyone. Hopefully Wicki would be smart enough to know better, because she wasn't.

But Wicki wasn't sure how he felt either.

"I'm going to fix my face," she told him, standing up and moving off. She picked up her bag and walked away quicker than she should. She knew it was best if she got out of there fast. Wicki just nodded and remained sitting, deciding he may as well finish his cigarette at least.

Ellis spent the nest few minutes further away from the Basterds, trying to make her eyes seem less red and puffy. She succeeded somewhat, but her face didn't still didn't look quite right. At last she conceded that it was a lost cause and wandered back closer to the others, waiting for the others to return with the truck so she could be returned to Paris soon.

Stiglitz had actually managed to doze off in the same spot as before. It was disturbing to her how comfortable he was in the place where Strasser had died. Donny had calmed down by now, he was also sitting down apart from the others, his bat still clutched in his hands. Kagan was sitting alongside the sleeping Hirschberg, obviously now thinking of sleeping himself. Wicki was still off by himself. There was no laughter or talking amongst the men anymore. They were tired, and coming down from the high of killing the Nazi, this was clearly more of a contemplative time.

"You all right?" a voice came from behind her. She turned around to face Omar, who perhaps looked the cheeriest of all the men at the moment.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said for what felt like the millionth time. She smiled, giving no indication that she was still feeling relatively shaky. "Exhausted, but fine."

"Tell me about it," he replied. "I can't wait to hit the sack. But listen, I heard you got smokes."

"Oh, did you?" she laughed. At least Kagan hadn't seemed to tell him about her crying, Omar would have been more careful if he had. "Well, you're lucky. I have one left." She pulled out the case and handed him one.

"You are a doll," he thanked her. "We ran out last week and I've been dying for one."

"I could get some if you like," she suggested. "You have to wait for Allied supplies that might never even get here. I have the means of getting them one way or another."

"You serious?" he asked. "Man, first you get us the fat guy, and now you wanna do groceries. Don't you got enough on your plate?"

"I suppose I want to help," she shrugged, smiling up at him. "Everyone's looking out for themselves these days. I'm trying to be nice."

"Talk to the boss," Omar told her. "I'm rooting for you, and those cigarettes. I tell you, I can't wait to get back home and smoke and drink myself into a coma."

"And what about sex if you're going for the whole set?" she laughed. "Victorious soldiers must be popular. Or is there one girl in particular?"

Omar laughed, although not convincingly.

"Did I say something?" Ellis asked, worried she had done something wrong. It didn't seem like Omar not to have a smart answer for anything.

"No, its not that," he reassured her. "Its just… I _had _a girlfriend…"

"But not anymore?" she said.

"Not anymore," he repeated quietly.

"I'm so sorry." Now she had put her foot in it. It must be hard for him, and the others, she supposed. They were such a long way from home, and they may never even get back. That was lonely feeling she knew.

"Nah, its okay," he smiled again. "I've been away for a long time. I don't really blame her."

Now silence fell between them, something which she had never anticipated happening with Omar.

"Bitch," Ellis finally said, shrugging at Omar.

And with that he began to laugh in earnest, his voice filling up the clearing. It was good to hear him laugh again. She didn't like the thought of him being too serious about anything. She had seen him become the 'Basterd' earlier, and it just seemed so unlike him. He was a good guy. But it was because he was a good guy that he was doing this after all.

"Who needs women?" he joked.

"Not me," she smiled.

"What about you and Wicki though?" he asked.

"What?" She was horrified that Omar may have picked up on anything. What if the others had as well? She needed to be the agent in this situation, not some emotional tramp.

"Well, you know," Omar looked like he regretted what he had just said. Typical, he thought. Of course he would be the one to say something stupid. "I just thought that maybe you two had something going on."

"We've had 3 meetings," she told Omar, trying to sound blasé about it. "And all three were either surrounded by you and your friends, or by Germans. How on earth could anything be going on."

"Fair enough," Omar shrugged. "But he shuts up with you around, and you guys never look at each other. Except tonight that is. You seemed to be talking a lot."

"It not what you think," she insisted.

Omar nodded in response, he could be stupid sometimes, but he also knew when to quit it.

A sound came fro nearby. They all immediately looked up anxiously. Stiglitz's eyes had opened immediately as well. He wasn't much of a deep sleeper. Only Hirschberg had stayed asleep. If this was the wrong people they were in big trouble.

A whistle came from nearby. It was the others.

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Phew! That took a while. I hate having to write these chapters in chunks because it really can interrupt the flow of writing but sadly I have little choice in the matter. This chapter was a tough one to write I have to say, probably the hardest yet, partly due to time constraints and partly because its just characters really. I wanted develop certain people more, and start bringing more emotion in, without being too sentimental or OTT. Fingers crossed it worked.

I know the story has been quite slow moving so far, but that was just to set things up really. Now the story is going to move a lot faster and more and more stuff is going to happen. And just to let you know: Landa is coming...

Thanks for the support, reviews, patience and loyalty everyone. You've been fantastic, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter too.


	11. Private Joke

Chapter 11, up much sooner than I thought it would be! Hopefully this is a good sign that I can get up 12 before the weekend is out:) But anyway, here he is. Hans Landa, the man himself. Trying to write for him was terrifying! Quentin wrote him so perfectly and Christoph Waltz played him so incredibly that I'm afraid nothing I write for him will be right in the money. But its not an IB fic if he's not involved somehow, right? Hopefully, I've done okay for myself with him.

No copyright infringement intended. Trust me, no one thinks this is the real deal anyway.

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The Führer was not happy. Not only were more and more of his men being viciously murdered by this vagabond platoon of filthy Jews, now they were even able to get their hands on his more important men. In the past six months five high-ranking officials had been kidnapped, tortured and murdered by these Basterds, then left to be found by their poor colleagues, a swastika carved deeply into their foreheads. Disgusting.

But they would not stand idly by. They had always hunted the Basterds, but no matter what they tried they always seemed to be just out of reach. But now they would have to intensify their search. No matter what it took or what it cost, those Basterds would be found. And once they were…

Well, the punishment would certainly fit the crime, so to speak.

Standartenführer Hans Landa stepped out of his car on onto the busy Parisian street, taking a deep breath of the city air. Just across the street was the famous, or should he say, infamous Bobino music hall. Home to some of Paris' most popular choruses, and often the stage for some of France's biggest stars. Edith Piaf had been here a few times, or so he had been told anyway. Not that he was much of fan of hers. She sounded far too like a wailing cat for his taste. Nonetheless he found the prospect of the Bobino extremely enticing. The glitz, the girls, the glamour. It wasn't a bad way to spend the afternoon really?

But today he was all business. Not that was any less fun for him. There was nothing he loved more than the interrogation. For him the arrest or the kill was just the end of the fun. What was really enjoyable was asking the questioning, seeing what people would do once backed into a corner. He loved watching the reactions, the breakdowns, the squirming. It was fascinating. Also some of the stories they would try and spin him! Simply wonderful. There were some terribly creative people out there, with some fantastic tales to tell. Hopefully today would be no exception.

He walked in to the club, his gait strong and confident. Once he had entered everyone looked up, anxious and apprehensive at the sight of a German officer. Oh good, he had made the right impression. It was always nice to make an entrance to set the tone for the rest of his visits. Apparently most of the Bobinos workers were busy tidying and preparing for tonight. Not so glamorous really, was it? A small Frenchman approached him.

"Monsieur?" the man addressed him. "I am Laurent Fresnay, the owner of this establishment. I am afraid we are not open until this evening. If you would like to come back…"

"You misunderstand me, Monsieur," Landa spoke to him in French. "This is not a leisurely visit for me, I'm afraid. I am Standartenführer Hans Landa and I am conducting an investigation. Now, I am terribly sorry to disrupt your very busy schedule, Monsieur Fresnay, but I am obliged to ask you and your employees some questions. I hope this is all right with you?"

"An investigation?" Fresnay asked indignant. "What kind of investigation? I run this business completely within the law."

"Well unfortunately, dear Monsieur, several of your patrons have 'gone missing' so to speak," Landa replied sweetly. "And since your wonderful establishment has been the last place many of them have been seen, I simply must ask questions. Strictly routine, I assure you."

Fresnay did not like this one bit. The name Hans Landa was well known throughout France, and for unpleasant reasons. He was clearly charming and dapper, but being near him was enough to make Fresnay's hair stand on end. Sometimes in life you would meet someone who came across as friendly and considerate, but something deep within you would know that this wasn't the case. Fresnay had known this feeling several times in his own life, but never more so than now.

"May we speak in private?" Landa asked him, his face a picture of friendliness.

Fresnay merely nodded and led Landa to his office. He sat behind his desk, which was cluttered with all sorts of bills and receipts, and placed his hands on his desk calmly, making ready for whatever would come next. Landa sat down opposite from him, still looking as nice as could be.

"How may I help you, then?" Fresnay asked, his own voice unfriendly. He could not and would not pretend to like the Germans. He wanted their money, pure and simple. Besides this man wanted answers not pleasantries anyway.

"Direct to the point I see, Monsieur," Landa smiled. "Very admirable, but please don't worry. I just want to ask some questions, no one is in the slightest bit of trouble."

Fresnay didn't reply. Landa gave a slight chuckle. The French could be so… well, French.

"You're club is wildly popular, I hear," Landa began. "Anytime the subject of conversation moves to music or entertainment the Bobinos name is sure to come up. And after seeing some of your very lovely employees I can see why. You truly have an eye for 'talent', Monsieur."

"I would like to think so," Fresnay replied coldly. "But actual talent. This is not _that _sort of establishment. Nothing disreputable happens in this club, Monsieur. And if anyone tries anything of the sort they are asked to leave."

"Quite right, Monsieur," Landa nodded in agreement. "A little wine and good men often forget themselves, as we all know. The night air does them a world of good, no doubt."

Fresnay was going to be a tough nut to crack, and Landa knew it. He was obviously a proud man. But Landa knew that images of pride were mostly used for the concealment of something very shameful. Fresnay had something to hide, and Landa felt just giddy at the prospect of finding out exactly what that was. Such fun.

"Unfortunately, Monsieur," Landa began again. "Several men who work for the Reich have been killed. Quite brutally in fact. And our great Führer has called upon my good self to try and discover who is responsible."

He paused, looking directly at Fresnay now, not with suspicion but with a glance that very simply said _I know you're about to lie. _

"And, good Monsieur," he continued. "In the course of my investigations I have discovered something… interesting. It would seem that each man in question frequented your fine establishment on a regular basis, and it is here in fact, that several of them were last seen."

Fresnay didn't even flinch. He had to remain entirely calm now.

"What is that you are insinuating?" he asked Landa, his voice still devoid of feeling.

"I insinuate nothing," Landa assured him. "I just state the facts. But I will have to ask every employee of yours some questions, you understand. Reliable witnesses can make all the difference. But first I will ask you, good Monsieur."

"I don't know anything about anyone," Fresnay informed him. "Before they come in the door and after they go out of the door they don't exist for me. So I'm not sure how much help I can be to you."

"Just answer as many questions as well you can," Landa smiled again.

He took out a file from his satchel, along with his pen and began asking Fresnay all the traditional questions. Was he familiar with any of the men in question? Did he notice anything suspicious on the nights in question? Was there any trouble? What had he done after the club closed? Fresnay answered them all without any hesitation or indication of what he really knew.

He knew this was down to Ellis. Like he had asked she had not told him about it, he didn't need to know and so he didn't. She was playing a very dangerous game if she was doing what it seemed like she was doing. Killing Germans was a stupid and senseless thing to do. What on earth would have possessed her to do this? But he had promised her and the Resistance that he would not reveal her secret, and Laurent Fresnay never broke his word.

"Well, that seems to be all," Landa smiled again, giving no indication of what he really may have thought or suspected. "But I would like now to speak to some of your employees, if you don't mind, Monsieur?"

"Of course not," Fresnay shrugged. "You can use my office for some privacy. I'll begin sending in people one by one."

"Thank you, Monsieur," Landa chimed. "The Bobino truly is the most hospitable place in Paris. I just hope that none of your employees is trying to ruin that for you."

"And what would you mean by that?" Fresnay asked him. Landa obviously had his own suspicions, and he did not like what he might be suspecting.

"Isn't it obvious?" Landa gave him a quizzical look. "Five high-ranking men disappear after coming to you wonderful little nightclub. Do you really not think anyone here is in some way responsible?"

"No," Fresnay replied flatly. "No one here would risk trying to ruin a good thing. This place is popular with the Germans, and everyone knows it. If you want to kill one where better to find one who is drunk and vulnerable? All anyone would have to do is lie in wait. My employees are decent and honest people trying to make a living."

"Of course, Monsieur," Landa smiled. His smile was no longer friendly though, there was something altogether more unsettling about it, as if Fresnay had told him something he had not meant to. Fresnay instantly regretted saying anything.

"Your loyalty to your staff is very admirable. I'm sure there will nothing out of the ordinary after all."

With that Fresnay excused himself, assuring Landa that he would send in everybody one by one. He walked back down the hallway to where his employees were busy with scrubbing, sweeping, sewing and all other manner of jobs. He would have to do this as cool and calm as possible. As soon as he came back in everyone looked up. They didn't like having a German here during the day, it meant that there was trouble and trouble was a very dangerous thing. Etienne the MC who had previously been helping to refit one dancer's costume instantly dropped what he was doing and walked right over to Fresnay.

"Laurent?" he asked, his voice not bothering to disguise any concern.

"People have been disappearing apparently," Fresnay informed him quietly, unwilling to disturb the others just yet. Etienne was second in command these days, he should be first to know.

"The girl," Etienne simply said, glancing over to where Ellis was busy wiping down a table. He knew she was more trouble than what she was worth.

"I think so," Fresnay nodded. "He wants to ask everyone questions. He'll probably keep it simple enough. Where were you? Did you see anything? Etc."

"Do you think he knows about the..?" Etienne didn't want to say it out loud, so he gestured outwards with his hands to finish the sentence. Downstairs in a concealed room was an entire stockroom of contraband goods. From chocolate to weapons, the French Resistance used the Bobino as one of its storage places. After all the Germans wouldn't suspect it to be somewhere they go all the time.

"I don't think so," Fresnay shook his head. "Guillaume will be here tonight for a collection, so we will have to inform him anyway. He'll decide what we do."

Etienne nodded, glancing around at everyone in the room now. They were all getting on with their work, but it was easy to tell they were still keeping an eye on Fresnay, waiting to be told what to do. Etienne felt very nervous now. What had that stupid woman done now? He had always known she would be bad for business. What if she got them caught? Everyone would suffer then, even though most of the staff had no idea what was going on. And his poor Fresnay. What would happen to the man in charge if this all went wrong? Especially once they discovered their little 'secret'.

"You should go first, Etienne," Fresnay told him quietly. "You do most of the work around here anyway so he'll want to ask you questions in particular. I'll tell the others now. Just…" he paused, uncomfortable with what he had to say next.

"… Just be discreet please. People like them don't understand people like…"

"Darling, please," Etienne rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to flirt. He's simply not my type." And with that Etienne strode down the hallway, ready to face whatever questions this German might have. He knew the game. At all costs he would protect their interests and Fresnay. Nothing would shake that.

Fresnay looked down the hallway after him. He knew Etienne was good at keeping a cool head and also an excellent liar, but he couldn't help but feel tense. If anything were to happen to Etienne he simply would not know what to do. So many years… He wouldn't know what to do if he were alone again.

"Everyone," he suddenly raised his voice, calling their attention. They all immediately looked up attentively. "Hans Landa of the SS is here."

There were some murmurs amongst everyone. Landa was notorious. He was more commonly known as the Jew Hunter, but such was his prowess that he could be pretty much be relied upon to find anything and anyone. If he was involved the Nazis meant business, and that was not good for anyone.

"He will ask you questions regarding the disappearances of some men who were patrons here. Now I want you answer him as truthfully as you can. But remember; we are a family. Families must always have each other's best interests at heart. There is nothing to worry about. Lydia you will go after Etienne and then we will work in alphabetical order."

There was a buzz of conversation amongst everyone as they pretended to get back to work. The room had suddenly gotten tenser, and the air felt so much closer.

"Monsieur Fresnay," Ellis walked up to him. She felt shaky and nervous already. "Let me go before Lydia. You know he'll suspect me the most with my history."

"Absolutely not," Fresnay insisted. "The more in the middle you are the less suspicious you look. First and last are always paid more attention than the middle. We're all safer with you in the middle."

"I don't what I can do to…" she began, feeling awful to have put everyone in this position. She had not been as careful as she had thought. Of course they would have noticed the Bobino was where everyone disappeared from.

"Stop right there," he put up his hands. "Remember, the less I have to know the better. Just calm yourself down before you go in there and get us all killed."

A full hour had passed and seven people had been through Landa's interrogation. Most of the young ladies had commented that he wasn't as bad the reputation that preceded him. He had come across as very charming and affable, and all his questions were asked in the most polite way possible. Several others who had been through his questioning however, including most of the savvier girls, had concluded that while he came across as pleasant, there was something deeply unnerving about him. Something you could not quite put your finger on. Ellis waited anxiously, allowing herself to only hear snippets of the others conversations.

"Ellis?" a girl called Sabine came over to her after being interviewed. "Its your turn next. Don't worry, I didn't think it was so bad."

Ellis didn't respond, she merely began walking towards the office slowly. This was the one Wicki had told her about all the months ago. The Jew Hunter. What if he could tell who she was? How would she be able to answer his questions without arousing suspicion? He was one the best detectives in the Reich, how on earth was she meant to slip through his net. For all she knew he already knew everything he needed to know about her.

When she entered the office he was busy writing down something onto a file. He looked up briefly and gestured to her to sit down. She obliged and sat down quietly in front of him. For the next few minutes he busied himself writing, leaving Ellis to just sit there in silence. If he was trying to psych her out it was working.

"Now," he finally said, putting his pen down and looking up with a smile. "Sorry about that, Miss de Vries. I'm afraid I have to write down anything I observe and I can observe quite a lot when I want to. You don't mind if I address you in German, do you? I was told you speak it better than French."

"Its fine," she replied. She tried to sound as nonchalant as she possibly could. There was nothing to be suspicious of here.

At first he asked her the same questions as he had asked everyone else. The typical questions of any investigation. She answered each of them, trying to sound as earnest and as helpful as she possibly could. However degrading it might be, she had to come across as a desperate gold-digger who had nearly been ruined by bad luck in Holland and was trying to carve out her niche here instead. She tried not to think of his title, but all that echoed in her head as he spoke were the words 'Jew Hunter'. Her stomach was in knots.

"That all seems to be in order," Landa told her eventually, still smiling his debonair smile. He could tell she was nervous. Everyone had been nervous speaking to him, he had enjoyed it very much in fact, but this girl was acting too calm for her own good. It was as if she was determined not to break, a sure sign of someone about to break. There was a secret here, and not like the secret of that stupid homosexual which had been so easy to pick up on. No, this was altogether something more intriguing. Juicier, if he dared say so.

"But I must say, you do have an 'interesting' background, Miss de Vries," he commented coolly.

"I explained everything to the Gestapo when I arrived, Standartenführer," she shrugged. "As far as I know he made note of it."

"You seem reluctant to discuss it," he told her.

"I've been trying for months to put it behind me," she replied calmly. "I've got a good thing going here, and I don't want to ruin it."

"Completely understandable," Landa agreed heartily. "I'll read the report as soon as I get back."

"Is that all?" she asked him, trying to sound bored and not impressed by his charms. She wanted to get out of here. She wanted to run off before her lungs gave out completely and she wouldn't be able to breathe anymore.

"You know," he began again, ignoring her question. "I heard a performance of yours while I was visiting The Hague last year. Excellent, I must say. A truly stunning performance."

"Thank you," she replied, giving a little false smile of flattery.

"Your voice reminded me very much of one particular singer," he continued. "She used to sing in the revues in Berlin years ago. What was her name?"

Ellis automatically stiffened, but tried not to show it. He had seen her in Berlin. What if he recognised her? What if this whole interrogation was simply teasing before he went in for the kill?

"Something Stein, anyway," he shook his head. "I simply cannot remember for the life of me. Oh well, a lovely performance nonetheless."

"Well, if you enjoyed it so much, Standartenführer," she began, trying to sound a little more genial towards him. "Maybe you could come and visit us again? I sing every night except Wednesdays and Sundays."

This could be her chance. He hadn't called her out as a Jew so maybe he didn't realise it after all. But maybe, just maybe, he could be next. Imagine it, the Jew Hunter finally brought down. How many people would be saved if she could do it? How many lives avenged? She had to try at least. Even if she failed she would have to have tried.

"Ah, I see compliments have warmed you up somewhat," Landa laughed slightly.

Stupid woman. She had just given away too much. Any woman could turn on the charm in order to entice a man, and that was exactly how she had been doing it. Stupid whore. But there was something more as well that he couldn't quite gauge. He would play along for now. He wanted to find out.

"Perhaps I will be back then," he grinned. "You seem like a very intriguing woman, Miss de Vries. Very intriguing."

"Thank you," she replied demurely. "Most men just tell me I have nice legs."

"Oh, I'm sure they're quite a sight to behold. But you wouldn't think me so obvious, would you?"

"It doesn't seem so." It seemed to be working.

"There is something about you that I just can't quite put my finger on just yet."

"Now Standartenführer," she told him playfully. "You're the detective, I'm sure you'll figure something out. Besides you have to know me a little bit better before you put you finger on anything."

Landa gave out a hearty laugh.

"Touché, Mademoiselle," he smiled, still laughing slightly. "I shall have to be back again soon indeed. But alas, Miss de Vries, I have some 20 more of your colleagues to get through so we must part for now."

"I wish I could have told you more," she lied sweetly. "I fear I may have been a bit standoffish at the start."

"Nonsense, mademoiselle," he insisted. "Perfectly understandable. But if you please, the next on my list is an André du Maurier. Would you be able to inform him?"

"Of course," she smiled, standing up and leaving. "I look forward to seeing you in the audience sometime."

And with that she was gone, closing the door behind her. Landa smiled to himself. What interesting people he got to meet. The woman clearly thought she had woven her magic spell on him as well. Perfect. People were never more vulnerable than when they thought they had the upper hand. Without a shadow of a doubt she was involved. The siren to the German proverbial sailors, led into the darkness and dashed on the rocks. What a clichéd plan? If the men who fell victim to it were stupid enough to do so than quite frankly they deserved what they got.

Silly girl. Silly, silly girl. She had no idea how much out of her depth she really was. But it was too late now. However her secret was still a mystery to him, and he wanted to know. She was safe until she slipped up again and gave it away. Then, once the curiosity had been satisfied, he would swoop in, like he always did. Poor silly girl.

The door opened and the aforementioned André du Maurier entered. Landa realised he had been laughing to himself all along. The young man gave him a puzzled look, clearly more nervous now than when he had first been called for questioning.

"Sorry," Landa excused himself. "Private joke."

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Wow, believe it or not that is the longest chapter yet. I simply cannot do moderation, can I? I hope you all got into the swing of how I did Landa, nothing I write will ever compare to Quentin's writing but I tried anyway. Next chapter will hopefully be half Landa and half Basterds, but if that doesn't work than you'll certainly get one or the other.

Thanks for all the support and reviews, i hope I haven't let you down!


	12. The Danger of Thinking

Hello again! It feels like its been forever! But as promised here is your weekly update, and hopefully you'll have another by tomorrow night or by Sunday at least. This was a tough one to write, but it has some rather important plot points and character insight so it was worth taking the time I feel. Anyway, enough of me. ENJOY!

Once again, no copyright infringement is intended. It's all fun and games really.

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SS headquarters was bustling as usual. Rows and rows of secretaries were typing with remarkable efficiency, and men in uniforms hurried through hallways and offices. Everyone was wrapped up in their work, a testament to German efficiency surely? There seemed to be more and more work to be done now that the Allies seemed to be gaining ground. It was as if by working harder and faster the Germans might be able to turn the tide once more in their favour. But Landa knew better than that. They were just swimming against the tide, and fairly soon there would come a wave. A very big wave, in fact. And he had no intention of drowning. He was already beginning to form his contingency plan.

As Landa walked through these hallways and offices, people would briefly stop or look up. Just for a second, but just long enough to give him a surge of satisfaction. He loved having a reputation. If you had a reputation like he did people would _always _look at you. They would look at you with either fear, caution, admiration (often begrudging), fascination, curiosity, envy and even hatred sometimes, sometimes all mixed together. He loved figuring out the puzzle, but more than that, he loved being the puzzle even better.

"Excuse me, Fraulein," he approached one of the younger secretaries. She looked up, startled, as if her work had held her under a trance. "But you would mind telling me where Sturmbannführer Dieter Hellstrom's office is?"

"Oh," she said, still flustered. "I'm afraid he isn't in at the moment."

"Is that so?" he replied, feigning surprise. Of course he wasn't in. That was the point. He could hardly look through Hellstrom's things without any disruption if the man himself was there. "I suppose I shall simply have to come back later then. But, dear Fraulein, would you mind telling me anyway? I would hate to have to bother any of you busy ladies upon returning later."

"That all right," she blushed. "It's just down this hallway. The fourth door on the right. His name will be on the door."

"Thank you, most sincerely," he replied, most insincerely. "I'll come back later so."

And with a charming smile at the young lady, he turned and walked out of the door and into the hallway. He moved swiftly and silently towards Hellstrom's office. The trick to looking inconspicuous was being conspicuous, he reasoned. He was a well known, feared and admired man, if he was wandering around headquarters people would think there must be a reason, surely? No one would question him, of that he was certain.

The door was locked of course, not that was a problem. As one of the Reich's most esteemed detectives he always could get a key. In no time he was inside of Hellstrom's office. It was predictably tidy, and contained several rows of cabinets, filled to the brim no doubt with files on just about everyone. It was time to read up with Miss de Vries.

But first he wandered over to Hellstrom's desk. He was hopelessly curious sometimes. Opening up the drawers of the desk he managed to find two bottles of scotch, a flask full of gin and a wine bottle. Right again, he chuckled to himself. Hellstrom put up a good front, but he had always suspected that authority and power ha gone to his head, and straight to his liver also from the looks of it.

But he had a job to do. Running his hand over the cold filing cabinets he came across the 'D' shelf in the section for foreigners in France. He opened it and leafed through all the files before eventually finding 'de Vries'.

He opened the folder and began flicking through the pages. Everything was perfectly in order in terms of documents and papers. To an untrained eye it would seem that Ellis de Vries really was nothing more than a club singer, but that wasn't fooling Landa. German officers disappearing almost as soon as she arrived in Paris, most of them last seen at the very club she worked in. It could be all a big coincidence, but looking at her past history her story didn't hold. It might have been a case of wrong place at the wrong time with the unfortunate Haupsturmführer Müntze, but now at the Bobino as well? He didn't think so. More than likely she was working with the Dutch Resistance, than wasn't hard to surmise, but it obvious that it was these so-called Basterds who had been committing the murders. Now that's where things got interesting.

The Allies and the Resistance had always worked together somewhat. Exchanging weapons and information, dropping in supplies to the deprived occupied territories and the like. But it was rare that the two sides got together and actively took down Germans, it was more give and take than that. Now that the war looked to be winding down however, it looked like that was exactly what they were trying to do. A more aggressive approach in order to speed up the ending. Miss de Vries was so obviously working against the Germans that it almost made him laugh. How could Hellstrom not have been at least a little more sceptical of her story?

But all of this was fairly clear. There was still something he couldn't quite put his finger on about her. Something she concealed more than her dirty dealings. Sighing, Landa put the file back carefully into the drawer and closed it quietly. Whatever he was missing would not be in that file, he would have to deal with her personally in order to find it out.

There were ways of doing this delicately. Intimidation was such a subtle art after all. Torture and interrogation were somewhat effective, but he found little enjoyment in that approach. He didn't like forcing the answer out, he much preferred to see them crumble into his hands and confess out of pure fear. And that is exactly what would happen to Ellis de Vries. He would get under her skin and shake her to the very core, and then watch as she told him exactly what he wanted to know. He already knew what the first step would be. As soon as the next murder was committed, he would put his plan in motion and sit back and enjoy the ride.

He stepped out of the office and locked the door behind him. He returned to his confident stance and began walking back down the hall just as casually as he always did. He was looking forward to the new game, it would certainly provide him with some distraction as he went about his daily duties.

"Landa," a very familiar voice called to him from across the foyer he had just entered. "Come here, Hans."

Sure enough, it was the newly arrived Reich minister Joseph Goebbels. Landa had been informed, just like every other officer, that he would be arriving but had paid little heed. If the was one thing in the world that Landa liked less than Jews, it was politicians. Goebbels was a self-serving, megalomaniacal fool, whose greatest achievements were making ridiculous films and encouraging the Führer to wallow in his own self-importance. Fortunately for Landa however his reputation meant that Goebbels favoured him somewhat. Putting on his most convincing smile he strode forward towards him to welcome him.

"Reich minister," he bowed his head politely. "It is so good to see you visiting France again. I hope your journey was pleasant."

"Awful!" Goebbels proclaimed loudly. "Turbulence. Bad food. Bad weather. And now the news that Weber has been killed in Poland. Worst journey of my life!"

"I'm so sorry, Reich minister," Landa replied in the most concerned tone he could muster. Goebbels wouldn't be Goebbels if he wasn't crying about something. "Is there anything we can get you? Something to eat or drink perhaps?"

"No thank you, Hans," he said wearily. "I'm meeting later on with Friedrich Zöller, and I think as such my spirits will improve. Have I told you about Zöller? Amazing young man."

"Yes, sir," Landa smiled. "I have heard of him on several occasions."

It was an understatement. All Goebbels talked about these days was his precious protégé Zöller, a young upstart with good aim and little else. Landa personally didn't see what all the fuss was about him. He had killed hundreds of men. So had Landa. But he had hunted them down, as opposed to Zöller who had merely had enough bullets and time to catch up on him. Now he was going to be the pretty young face of German propaganda, with an almost certainly over-dramatic film about to be premiered. The whole thing was completely ludicrous.

"An absolute marvel, that boy," Goebbels continued, unable to disguise the awe in his voice. "Actually it is his film premiere that I want to talk to you about."

"Sir?"

"This event must have top notch security," he emphasised to Landa. "The deaths of these officers are completely unacceptable. It is weakening morale. This event must be one hundred percent secure against these enemies of the Reich."

"Of course, sir," Landa agreed, already not liking where this was going.

"And it is for precisely for that reason that I want you to be head of security for the premiere."

"Thank you, Reich minister," Landa replied as tactfully as possible. "But I'm not certain I am the most suitable candidate for the job."

The last thing he needed was to be made into a glorified security guard. He liked this job, and he did not want to be forced into making security checks on fat aristocrats. He didn't want any distractions from his latest endeavour.

"Nonsense," Goebbels dismissed him. "You've have a good eye, Hans. You're the perfect man for the job, and your notoriety can only help."

"Well, thank you, sir," Landa smiled as much as possible, reeling on the inside.

"Good," Goebbels replied sharply. "Now if you excuse me, I must meet with my translator. I'll see you later on, no doubt."

"Heil Hitler," Landa saluted him, before Goebbels walked off without saying anything further.

This was a set back. Now his time would be taken up by reinforcing some over-decorated French theatre for the premiere of that film honouring that glorified sniper. Did Goebbels really think that taking his best detective away from hunting down their enemies was going to make them any safer. The fool. He and his precious Führer were both clearly insane. He was going to have to figure out his contingency plan even faster now, before those madmen were brought down and he would be destroyed with them. He was no fool. He wasn't going to go down on this sinking ship.

Then there was the matter of the woman. How was he supposed to ensnare something he was no longer able to pursue? He would have to come up with a contingency plan for that as well. Landa was a patient and stubborn man when it boiled down to it. He was not going to let this go.

It was raining heavily, and the French countryside looked far from its usual beautiful self. Right now it looked downright bleak as the Basterds remained sheltered in the remnants of an old mill. They were cold, wet and miserable, the last of their cigarettes gone again, and only half a flask of whisky left. They sat in silence waiting for the rain to pass them by.

Raine and Hirschberg had left a couple of hours ago before the torrential rain had started, heading off to receive orders from the radio they had managed to conceal in a village a few miles away. The others were left to pass the time however they could. Donny had been left in charge, but currently he was dozing in the corner.

They all hated the times like this. When they had signed up to go to France and kill Nazis, they hadn't anticipated all the waiting around and hiding involved. They had just expected to kill Nazis. Slipping into silent waiting also meant thinking. And that would only lead to bad places these days.

In his own corner Omar was restless. He hated the silence. He hated the waiting. But there was nothing to talk about now. Any topic of conversation felt exhausted, and no one was in the mood to talk anyway. He couldn't stand it. He began wringing his hands to warm them, and also to keep them busy. He would not allow himself to repeat bad habits again and again. But it wasn't long before he couldn't help himself.

He unbuttoned his pocket and pulled out a tattered and yellowing piece of paper. Unfolding it carefully so as it didn't tear. He read the letter for what must have been the millionth time.

_I understand it if you're angry with me. I'm so sorry. I still love you a lot, it's just that things are different now. Everything changed. I'm so sorry._

_Love, Valerie._

That was how the letter finished, and it was where he always ended up reading over and over again. The first time he read it he wasn't sad, he was angry. He spent weeks getting madder and madder as he read over it. How could she have done it? He was here putting his life at risk for his country and for his people, living in squalor, far away from everyone and everything for the greater good, and she met someone else. He hated her for so long for that, thinking he had in fact dodged a bullet losing her.

But months had passed, and there was more and more time to think these days. Anger gave way to what he had been too embarrassed to feel. Sad. The girl who had promised to wait for him, who talked about marrying him with her friends and sent him letters for months with smudged ink from tears had met someone else and moved on. It was hardly fair. How was he supposed to do the same thing? He might not even live that much longer if the Germans caught up on them. It was the loneliest feeling he had ever known in his life. It had been months and he still tortured himself by reading those lines over and over again. He hated the silence.

Nearby Sakowitz and Zimmerman had started a card game on makeshift cards to pass the time. Omar got up quickly and went over to join them, carefully folding the letter again and putting back into his pocket.

Utivich was also in a contemplative mood, lying down on his mat in the middle of the floor, his mind far off back home. He thought of his parents and their big house, he thought about their other rich friends and all their endless garden parties. No matter how cold and miserable it got in France, all he had to do was think about his old life and he instantly felt better about where he was at now.

Smithson. Who calls their child Smithson? His parents had always been so desperate to please their affluent neighbours that a simple, sensible or (God forbid) Jewish name would never do. Instead they chose Smithson, a pretentious name that sounded like a surname instead. He hated it. And he especially hated it when his fathers cigar smoking, port swigging business friends referred to him as 'Smithy', as if they had a real sense of humour. And his mother's housewife friends were no better, always telling him what a handsome boy he was and how he really was just like his father. They had spent endless afternoons in some rich prick's oversized backyard chatting and laughing about the stupidest things, while he had stood awkwardly in the corner with a drink, only speaking when spoken to. He would prefer wet, miserable Nazi-infested France over that any day.

His parents had forsaken any religious formalities in their own house, his father often playing golf with 'the boys' on the Sabbath, and his mother exchanging recipes for ham with her friends. Utivich had no interest in being strictly religious, but they were still Jews, and they could at least avoid bacon for the sake of appearances. But no, his parents didn't think being Kosher fitted in with all their rich, loud-mouthed Presbyterian and Episcopalian friends in the suburbs. The worst had been visiting his grandparents on special occasions. His grandparents were the sweetest kindest people he could think of, and rightly proud of being Jewish, and yet his parents avoided visiting except at the holidays. Grandma and Grandpa never got to visit their big, tastefully decorated home, instead he and his parents always visited them in their small apartment. He hated it. He loved his grandparents, but he hated how ashamed his parents were of them. Of who they were themselves.

They had wanted him to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a banker. Something with money and status, just like his father. But much to their dismay he wanted to be a teacher. He wanted to teach history and live in a modest sized house like a normal person, and celebrate Passover and Yom Kippur like a normal Jew. He wanted to teach history and it horrified them, causing them to continuously beseech him to consider a bank job for his own sake. Then war happened, and he signed up. He had heard the stories and he knew what was happening to Jewish people all over Europe, and he wasn't going to sit down and do nothing. It had been the last straw for his parents, they had begged and pleaded furiously. But that had just spurred him on. They didn't write to him very often anymore.

Wicki also kept himself apart from the others right now, lost in his own train of thoughts. Like Omar he had also had a letter, but this was not old and tattered. He had gotten this letter over a week and half ago, just like he had been getting letters for the past four months or so. He hadn't told anyone about them, it wasn't their business and they probably wouldn't appreciate it anyway. It was his secret. Their secret actually. He had never intended to keep anything from his friends, but he was worried about what they would think. Raine knew, he suspected. A perceptive person like Raine always figured out things like this. But if he knew he wasn't saying anything, either deciding to ignore it or that he didn't have a problem with it. Stiglitz might have figured it out too, also being observant enough. But fortunately this was just the kind of thing that Stiglitz couldn't care less about. Maybe Utivich knew? He was the smartest of them all, so it wouldn't be surprising.

He had never meant for anything to happen. Whatever he felt inside he had decided not to act on. It wasn't worth it. It would just complicate everything and possibly put everyone's lives in danger. He had decided to hold his tongue, and say and do nothing. But ultimately it hadn't worked. He and Ellis were foolish enough to try it anyway. He looked down at the letter again, his expression not affectionate, but full of concern. There were always gaps of weeks in between when they could see each other for maybe an hour or two, and he worried about what would happen in those gaps.

After that night when Strasser became the first truly high-ranking victim of the Basterds, the meetings for information and plans had become increasingly frequent, and Ellis had even managed to lure in more officers for them. She and Wicki had seen more and more of each other, having awkward meetings alone in some quiet place. She had pushed aside her turmoil and acted as professionally as she could, while he tried to be less cold towards her whilst also being professional as well. It worked somewhat, but Wicki couldn't help but begin to dread and anticipate their meetings more and more. Then it had just happened.

They had met in another bar, sitting alone in the corner as per usual, discussing what needed to be discussed. Then the next thing they knew the bar was swarming with Germans, coming in to celebrate something. They filled up the bar, talking noisily and taking up all the seats. This meant the end of the discussion. Wicki was then hassled by a pair of officers, who claimed that he had taken their usual table, before beginning to ask each other why they didn't recognise this fellow officer. Wicki had been forced to make an excuse to leave, taking Ellis with him. They hurried down the street as fast as they could, moving away from the crowds until she was so out of breath that she demanded they stop. It had just been them then, in a dark Paris street. Whatever had stopped him before failed, and whatever worried her failed also. It just happened and that was it. Nothing romantic at all about it really. And certainly no one else needed to know.

Wicki even hesitated to call it a relationship really. They barely had any time alone, but at least now it was easier to keep up the relationship façade. Lovemaking wasn't really an option however, the meetings never left any time and the situation was simply too precarious to risk doing anything. Instead they made due with their meetings, discarding all business talk as soon as they could, and giving each other letters to help pass the time in between. It was frustrating sometimes, and they both knew it was foolish, but they still continued regardless. What else could they do now? Once it happened there was no way of changing things.

He cared about her a lot. He sometimes wondered if he maybe loved her, although he generally could reason that he didn't, at least not yet anyway. But often he was left too confused to tell anymore. The logical part of his brain told him that this thing was just two lonely people looking for a way to feel better about themselves, and wanting to be understood. Misery loves company after all.

Raine and Hirschberg arrived back suddenly, not even bothering to announce their presence. The men all immediately sprung to attention, eager to have their silence broken and to have something else to focus on. Donny had been the first up, the most zealous as usual. Stiglitz, who had been lounging in a corner was the last to join them, casually walking over.

"What you got for us?" Donny asked Raine, visibly tense. He hated sitting around just as much as the rest of them. He was here to do a job, and doing nothing just gave him time to think about that job. How could he just sit around when the Nazis were everywhere destroying everything they possibly could. There was a reason he was here. Hell, it might even be the reason he was born, and he hated not doing it.

"Easy boys," Raine said, wary of their eagerness and tired after his own journey. "We got news, but this is different. It's… more complicated."

"What do you mean 'complicated'?" Wicki asked, he was unsure whether or not this sounded like a good thing. For someone like Raine the word 'complicated' had purely bad connotations.

"We've been given a mission," Raine informed them. "They're callin' it Operation Kino."

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Voila! I hope you enjoyed it because it really was so difficult to do. Landa is a wonderful character, which unfortunately makes him a BITCH to write. Its really tough, but hopefully you think I'm holding my own somewhat. The stuff about Utivich is based on what BJ Novak's been saying about his character, which is basically that his parents try to conform to a WASP-y society and he wants to regain his Jewish heritage. Omar's stuff is all made up however as I wanted to give a lot more depth to him, because I love him very, very much. His character is probably the one I'm proudest of:)

Now on the subject of Wicki/Ellis. I know you might read this and think its a bit out of the blue, but that was a conscious decision. I HATE long drawn out, angsty relationship plots (Twilight, anyone?) and this one was in danger of going down that road and I was not having that. I want this to be primarily a dramatic fic, with just some romance so I'm keeping it rather simple and in the background. However I will flesh it out as we continue, so please don't think I'm just throwing stuff out there.

I hope you enjoyed it! And thanks to everyone for all the continued nice lovliness:D


	13. Donowitz the Wise

As promised, here's is chapter 13! I can't believe I managed to actually stick with a fic this long, and I have no intention of stopping yet;-P This chapter was actually easier for me to write than the past few have been. I also realised I didn't have enough Donny in this story, which is both a crime and a shame, so I've given him a lot of importance in this chapter. Once thank you all for your support of this story, it means so much I hope that I'm keeping this enjoyable for you.

Disclaimer: I am disclaiming everything. I own nothing, it's disclaimed.  
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Raine outlined the plan for Operation Kino as briefly as he could. In just two weeks there was going to be gala premiere of Goebbels latest film in Paris. Attending that premiere would be several leaders of the German high command. The Basterds had to infiltrate that premiere one way or another. OS had told them that the Brits would be sending over a man to help them, Lt. Archie Hicox, and that there was a German double agent who would be able to get them into this premiere. They didn't name the German however. Stiglitz and Wicki would be the men for the job, much to Donny's annoyance. They were to rendez-vous two days before the premiere with Hicox, and then the following night with the German agent. Once they were inside however, it was to be a free-for-all , just kill as many of them as they possible could.

The plan was top secret, of course. Once Raine had detailed it to them, he had warned them against discussing any of it at all. Anything that had to be said about the mission was to be addressed to him and only him. He didn't want them gossiping and speculating like a bunch of ladies over it, no matter how exciting the prospect was. If they were overheard at all, that would be it, and Raine did not want them to be responsible for ruining one of the best shots they had at ending this war. There was to be no discussion, end of discussion. Ellis did not need to know about it, and so she would not be informed of it. They had their arrangement with her and nothing else needed to interfere.

The following afternoon Donny and Wicki were waiting for Ellis to arrive at the park they had agreed to meet in to discuss the next victim on the Basterds radar. Haupsturmführer Ronald Röderer, who had only recently helped to coordinate one of the largest Resistance round-ups France had ever seen. As per usual there were no trials and the suspected Resistance fighters were all executed within two bloody days, hanged liked cattle with wire in true Nazi fashion. One hundred a thirty-four men and women in total. Röderer was one ruthless bastard, but with any luck he was about to meet some Basterds who played just as rough. She had been trying to get him for two weeks now, but it had proved difficult. He rarely indulged in nights out, a slave to his work, and she had had to go out of her way to 'bump' into him as often as she could. At last she had gotten him to agree to have a drink with her. The plan was for her to meet with him and then go to a bar. Once the Basterds had intercepted them however she was to go to the bar as planned and pretend to have been stood-up.

Donny shuffled uncomfortably in his stolen Nazis uniform. Not only was he uneasy at the thought of being in an enemy uniform, but also technically Wicki ranked higher than him at the moment, and being a proud man, that irritated him. Wicki looked anxious too, constantly checking around them. Donny didn't have a word of German, but he did have a quick temper. All it would take was one loud sentence from him at the wrong moment and they would all be done for. So far the park was pretty much empty, except for a mother with her children running around nearby. He wasn't keen on this arrangement at all either. It was bad enough whenever Stiglitz had to come along , or was sent without Wicki, but now Raine had decided Donny got to go as well. It was all getting too complicated and stressful for him. He understandably preferred to meet Ellis alone.

"When the Hell is supposed to get here?" Donny hissed quietly at Wicki. "This is fuckin' bullshit."

"We got here early," Wicki reminded him calmly. "So technically she isn't late yet. We just have to wait a few minutes."

"Yeah, well I got better things to do than play dress up here," Donny muttered. Why on earth had Raine sent him with Wicki? He didn't speak German and that would mean they would have to have their discussion in English. Hardly wise in a German occupied France. No one spoke English here, no one even dared.

Maybe he had annoyed Raine? He was getting more and more antsy these days as they got to ambush fewer and fewer Germans. Their profile was getting too big, and they had to be careful, especially now that there was a new mission on the horizon. Maybe Raine had had enough of his complaining and just sent him along with Wicki to give something to do, and to give Raine some peace. Whatever the reason, Donny was very aware that he had to behave himself. He had to keep it cool for everybody's sake. No matter how many Germans were walking all around him or how much he wished he had his trusty bat with him, he would have to keep calm and, most importantly, keep his mouth shut.

Wicki looked pretty antsy himself, Donny thought. Did he always get this nervous when he was undercover? Not that he could blame him really, it was a tough job and if he got caught he wouldn't get to live very long either. Or maybe it was Donny's presence that was getting him worked up? At least when he was alone or with Stiglitz language wasn't a problem, but with Donny it was _the _problem.

Ellis walked through the front gate of the park right on time. She looked around casually, just like any other person enjoying an afternoon amongst the greener scenery. She spotted them, visibly glad to see Wicki before she realised Donny was beside him. Her brow furrowed as she approached them. Why was he here as well? How could Raine in his right mind think that sending the Bear Jew to a secret meeting be a good idea? The Bear Jew. That name was hardly an indication of subtlety, was it? Wicki gave her a look of resignation. It hadn't been his idea anyway.

"Always nice to see you Donny…" she began once she had come over to them.

"…But what the fuck am I doing here?" he finished the sentence for her. She shrugged in response. That was what she was going to say, if not phrased slightly differently.

"Don't know, don't care," he said. "Let's just make this as fast as we can, okay?"

"I'm sorry about this," Wicki apologised in German.

"Hey!" Donny interrupted. "No German, right. We're keeping Donny in the loop here."

"Force of habit," Wicki sighed. Donny was not going to make this any easier that was for sure.

"I can't give you Röderer," she informed them. It was better to get that out of the way at the beginning. Landa's interrogation had just raised the stakes considerably, and there was no way she could get away with another German death without risking the lives of everyone she worked with, not to mention more members of the French Resistance.

"What?" Donny exclaimed. "You said you had him for us. What the hell happened?"

"Donny," Wicki cautioned him. His voice was getting far too loud. Donny quietened down immediately, realising the same thing. Wicki turned his attention back to Ellis.

"What went wrong?" he asked her. He worried instinctively now. She believed very devoutly in what they were doing, punishing the Nazis, and spreading fear and uncertainty throughout the German ranks. The only way she would have failed was if something had gone drastically wrong. If he was sure of anything, it was that things had obviously just become more dangerous than before.

"The man you told me about before," she told him. "Landa, the Jew Hunter. He connected the dots and realised that the club was at the middle of the officers' deaths. He interrogated everyone."

"Even you?" he asked her. If what she was saying was true, they really were in trouble. Landa was the most infamous detective in the Reich, and called the Jew Hunter for a reason. Had he been able to tell Ellis was a Jew?

"Everyone," she emphasised. "No one told him anything, but if someone else goes missing or turns up dead he will come straight back to us. Most of these people don't even know anything's going on. I will only get them all killed if I give you Röderer."

Wicki stayed silent. There was nothing to be done now. Röderer would have been a good catch, and he certainly deserved it, but his death would get more innocent people killed now. Ellis had had a good run but now she was in danger. They couldn't ask any more of her. He had always known it was a bad idea. He had always known that something like this would happen. What was Ellis supposed to do now?

"I'm out," she put up her hands. "I'm sorry but I can't do anything else."

"Now, wait a minute," Donny began. He wasn't about to let her throw it all away just because she got spooked.

"I'm out," she repeated. "Do you think that man won't figure out who I am, even if he doesn't think I'm responsible for killing those men? You think that I'm the first Jew to think of changing my hair colour or my name?"

"That don't mean you've got to panic," he told her.

"Why not?" she fumed at him now. How was he not getting this? "I'm scared."

She hated to admit it, especially in front of soldiers, but it was the truth. She didn't want to die. When all was said and done she wanted to live. She had lost her family, her livelihood and her self-respect, but she had managed to survive for this long and she wasn't about to stop. It was cowardly and it was selfish, but she didn't care. She had lost everything else, why should she lose the only she had left? She wasn't a soldier. There wasn't honour in dying for her. Her legacy would be a barely successful, frivolous career and occasionally getting valuable information by cheapening herself. She wanted to live instead. She wanted to reach all the milestones in life that her family and so many others had never had the chance to. She was being selfish and that was that.

"What will you do?" Wicki asked. He wished Donny wasn't here. Donny had signed up because he was willing to die for his cause, Ellis had been drafted in because she had no other options. She had been as brave as she could be considering her situation, and she had managed to help them a lot. How could he ask any more of her? He wished that he could get her out of here right now, far away from the Jew Hunter who was sure to discover her in the end.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Try and go back home. Maybe they'll hide me again." Kuipers and the others would be disappointed in her actions and her abandonment of her post, but she hadn't betrayed them and that had to count for something. They were good men, surely they wouldn't forsake her when she needed them.

"You'll leave then?" Wicki said quietly. He didn't want her to go, but she had to. If she stayed she wouldn't last much longer. He wanted her to stay safe more than he wanted her to stay here.

"I'm sorry," she said sadly. She hated being such a coward, but she was and she had to get out of here. If they had been alone maybe this could have been a proper goodbye. She could have kissed him like she wished she could do more often. He could have held her a little more tightly than he had allowed himself to previously, knowing that it was the last chance. Their strange relationship forced to end, while they both still cared. She wasn't going to see him die like she had Rob and Müntze. It should have been short and bittersweet.

"You're both fuckin' crazy!" Donny exclaimed. What was wrong with these two? They were both acting like this was the end of the world. Didn't they see that they were about to make the wrong decision and mess it up for everyone instead? Donny had never been what could be called the 'sensible one' in any given situation. But right now it seemed to him like he was the only who saw sense.

"What do you think s gonna happen if you suddenly disappear after Landa comes on the scene?" he asked, trying to make sound as obvious to them as it was to him. "He'll know for sure that it was all down to you, and what do you think he'll do to those club people then? Somebody's gonna have to pay for it."

Both Wicki and Ellis stopped and looked at Donny. He was right. They had both silently panicked over the situation and Donny had managed to keep a cool head. Wicki felt slightly embarrassed for almost getting carried away, but he was more surprised at how rational Donny had become. Donny was reckless, impulsive and, not to be mean, not the brightest of the Basterds. Raine had always had to talk him out of doing stupid things, and now he had become the voice of reason in their conversation.

"Listen," Donny continued. "I know the whole things a big mess, and I get that your having doubts. And I'm real sorry about that. But you ain't got a choice right now. You can't leave without screwing all of those people over too."

Ellis didn't say anything for a moment. What he was saying was true, she hadn't even thought about that, but that was how things would probably play out if she ran away now. If Landa couldn't get her, he would accuse everyone else of helping her. Fresnay, Etienne and the others would all suffer for it. She had no choice but to stay. She felt trapped. There really was no way out of this.

"You're right," she finally conceded, feeling sick to her stomach. "I have to stay."

Donny looked over to Wicki, trying to see if he also agreed with him. He just nodded in response; silently admitting that Donny had a point. Donny could hardly believe that he was the one doing this himself. It actually made him feel good, he didn't get to be the smart one that often.

"What's more," Donny went on. "You've got to get us Röderer."

"What?" Ellis and Wicki both asked at the same time. How could it make any sense to invite more trouble into the situation?

"It's the same thing," Donny insisted. "If Landa turning up means that the murders stop, then that just confirms the club had something to do with it as well."

Once again Donny's argument made sense, and he could see in their faces that they realised it as well. He was on a roll. Ellis' face was almost completely white at this stage. He felt somewhat sorry for her. She wanted this whole thing to end, to just not have anything to do with it anymore. Unfortunately she didn't have that option.

"Fine," she composed herself again. There was nothing for it, she had to do it. There was no way out of this now. She had made her bed when she agreed to bring the Basterds Germans, and now she would have to face up to the consequences. If the Jew Hunter was going to get her, she would die a Jew at least.

"But I'll meet him elsewhere," she informed them. "If I can keep away from the Bobino then the Bobino can't take the blame."

Both men nodded in agreement. Wicki felt frustrated. Donny had been the one who had seen sense, not him. He had always managed to be fairly pragmatic, but his feelings had gotten in the way, just as he knew they would eventually. If Donny hadn't been here, they would have made the rash decision that would have cost lives. He felt like a fool. Now that he and Ellis had complicated things, nothing was ever going to be simple. Even if they ended it right there and then, something would always be there ensuring things stayed complicated.

There was nothing for it. They were coupled together now through hell and high water, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Just before the group decide to part ways, Wicki remembered the letter he had in his pocket. They each wrote one and gave it to each other when they got to meet. It was about as intimate as they were able to get. The only problem now was Donny.

_Hell and high water._

"Raine gave me a letter to give to you," Wicki said suddenly, pulling the letter out and handing it to her. "He needs you to pass it on to your people. News from our side."

Ellis took it, understanding what he really meant. When Stiglitz was present a lie wouldn't do, but with Donny who wasn't used to such rendez-vous they could do this. With Stiglitz, they had to sneak the letters to each other when he wasn't looking or while he was preoccupied. She pulled out a letter of her own.

"And my people have more of the same for Lt. Raine," she said passing the envelope over to Wicki who accepted it casually, and stored it away in his own pocket.

"Come on," Donny interrupted, not concerned with the letters whatsoever. "I want to get out of here and out of this fuckin' uniform."

And with that they were gone. Ellis turned around as casually as she had been before and left the park the way she had entered. It was difficult to keep looking at ease when she felt the way she did, but she had to keep it up. Now more than ever nothing could seem suspicious. Nothing could attract attention to her. And then there was the matter of changing her arrangement for tonight with Röderer, and that meant having to pay him a visit at the SS headquarters. She nearly shuddered at the thought, before forcing herself to make for the headquarters in order to get it over with.

Once she had passed the security check, informing them that she had 'information' for Haupsturmführer Röderer (not wholly a lie, she reasoned.), she was brought inside and told to wait in the foyer. She sat down and waited, finding that the whole situation mirrored her first encounters with Müntze far too closely for comfort. But she had to remain in character. She had been a coward earlier, and it was time to leave that behind.

"Ellis?" a familiar voice suddenly rang out. "Ellis de Vries!"

She looked up quickly, her heart suddenly pounding hard in her chest. Who had recognised her? The game couldn't be up yet. She had only just decided to go on.

A woman with long red hair came bounding over to her, a huge smile on her face.

"Ronnie!" Ellis exclaimed. Despite herself, she felt so happy to see Ronnie, the only friend she had made while undercover back in the Netherlands. It was just so good to see a smiling face right now. Despite everything that had happened, she had to admit she had always liked Ronnie. The two women hugged each other tightly, both overjoyed to see a familiar face.

When Ellis had begun her work as a secretary for the Germans, and spy for the Dutch, Ronnie had been the only other secretary there. She was a bubbly and friendly woman, who like Ellis had a talent for survival it seemed. She was the mistress of Günther Franken, the officer responsible for the deaths of Ellis' family, but like everyone else Ronnie had no idea of that. She was aware that she was sleeping with the enemy, and that he was responsible for a lot of bad things, but had reasoned that, in order to keep her head above water during the occupation, by his side was the place to be. Her family were not rich, and when her father lost his small business they were effectively left penniless. She profited in being with Franken though, having better resources than most people, and so she ignored the dubious morality of her situation. She didn't like the Germans, of course, but she liked the idea of starving and street living even less.

"What are you doing here?" Ronnie asked, still holding Ellis' hands in her own.

"I'm working," Ellis told her, smiling the first real smile she had in ages. "I'm singing again. In a place called the Bobino."

"That's fantastic," Ronnie beamed. "You were always the diva of the office. My God, it's good to see you. I was getting worried, you know."

"Its good to see you too," Ellis hugged her again.

"And it's good to be speaking Dutch again!" Ronnie laughed. "My French is awful, so I'm stuck with these Germans all day every day. I don't think I've spoken Dutch in at least two months."

"You've been here two months?" Ellis asked. "But how? I mean, what are you doing in Paris anyway?"

"I'm with Günther," Ronnie replied, as if it was obvious.

Ellis felt like she had been hit in the stomach. Franken was here. The man who had killed her family, and who probably by now knew that she was a Resistance spy had come to Paris, and she had no idea. Her smile faded, and her face went white all over again. Ronnie clearly took her shocked expression a different way.

"I know," she chirped. "You'd think he'd be sick of me by now, but I know how to keep him interested." She gave Ellis a wink. "And as soon as I heard about Paris I just knew I had to come."

Ellis couldn't speak. She was too horrified to even think straight anymore. Franken was here.

Franken was here, and as soon as he knew she was as well she would be done for.

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Ronnie is here! I know that doesn't mean a lot to you all yet, but I love her character and I have great plans for her. Also, Franken will be turning up very soon, which I'm also looking forward to writing. I hope you liked Smart Donny too. He generally gets portrayed as a bit of a meat-head, but I'd like to think he can a bit more insightful than that:) The relationship between Wicki and Ellis has been quite tricky for me to write though, as I don't want it to be too OTT or dramatic, but I also want it to be important and not just swept under the rug. Please bear that in mind with this fic:)

I'd like anyone review this chapter in particular, I'm having a lot of doubts in regards to some aspects of my story, and you're feedback on anything you feel necessary will be able to help me either feel better, or write better.

Thanks once again to everyone who reads/reviews/supports this story. You're all brilliant. FACT!


	14. The Games Begin

Chapter 14, a lot sooner than I expected! I had a little burst of inspiration after the encouragement I received and so i bashed out this little number. Personally I see this as a very transitory chapter for the story, important to the plot but not big on filling up much of the actual story. I'll have much better stuff written by the weekend anyway (hopefully).

Thank you all from the heart for all your support! You lot do surprise me sometimes:)

Once again, we all know I own none of this stuff.

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Röderer had been easy enough to subdue. Like a lamb to the slaughter he walked to the corner of the street he had agreed to meet Ellis, and leaned against a lamppost, waiting for her to arrive. All it had taken after that was one swift, sharp hit to the back of the head and he was out. Stiglitz felt a little disappointed. He had really wanted to hit him again.

But before he could so much as give an extra kick to the unconscious man, Kagan Sakowitz and Utivich appeared and began to drag him back down the alley where they had all laid in waiting. Throwing him down, the Bastards looked him over.

"He's short as shit," Hirschberg declared after a few moments observation.

"Check out the moustache," Sakowitz remarked. "Its like a couple of handlebars. Fuckin' weirdo."

"You're just saying that because you can't grow nothing on your face," Zimmerman joked.

"Shut the fuck up," Sakowitz retorted.

"Why don't all of y'all pipe the fuck down?" Raine whispered angrily, finally appearing behind his men. "You gonna wake all them Frenchies up."

He looked down at Haupsturmführer Ronald Röderer. He didn't look so tough, kinda small and scrawny actually. For a man who just killed over a hundred a thirty people, he looked more the bookish type. It's always the quiet ones, he supposed. He took notice of the rather large and out of place moustache on Röderer's face, and ran his fingers against the one on his own face.

"Now that's just tacky," he proclaimed.

The men laughed quietly. Donny and Omar stepped forward, manoeuvring as best they could in the relatively tight space they were in. They both took and arm each of their latest victim and began to drag him along the ground. The others followed dutifully, a couple of them visibly excited that they were getting back to work again. It had been a while since they had gotten to ambush a patrol, and even longer since they had gotten someone really important. They were going to go to town on this son of a bitch.

Soon enough they reached the abandoned square, which had become such a familiar sight to them over the past few months. As per usual, there was no light, sound or any other sign of life amongst the dilapidated buildings and rotten debris lying all around. They had managed to get themselves a couple of jeeps this time, since it had been a while since they had gotten the chance to steal themselves a truck. It had been an unpleasant journey for them all, which had left each of them feeling not unlike a tin of sardines. But the two jeeps would have to do for now, it would be a bit of a squeeze, but there was nothing else for it.

"This is gonna be one uncomfortable ride," Omar sighed after silently counting how many of them there were. "Ten of us, plus the Kraut."

"The what?" Stiglitz asked, he didn't sound too pleased.

"I meant the Kraut we don't like," Omar insisted. He wasn't about to annoy Stiglitz. First off, he was pretty sure that the guy was a psychopath, and secondly, around about this time Stiglitz was always getting himself worked up for the kill. Right now, he would have to be extra sweet to Stiglitz.

"What I was saying was," Omar tried to continue. "I'm not sure we're all gonna fit."

"Point taken," Raine nodded, looking at the two vehicles. Army jeeps were big enough but Omar had a point, there was ten of them and Röderer to fit in, and that didn't seem like it would work.

"Boys," he sighed. "I'm thinkin' we may have to come up with another strategy. Any thoughts?"

A moment's silence fell amongst the Basterds, as they considered their situation. They remembered the journey here, and they weren't about to do that again if they absolutely didn't have to. Especially considering how bumpy and twisty the country roads were. One way or another it would be too close for comfort and would lead to somebody doing something embarrassing inadvertently and that could just make things awkward.

"We could tie him to the hood?" Hirschberg suggested. "You know, like a buck or something."

"Yeah, Hirschberg," Raine replied sardonically. "Yeah, real good idea. Couple of problems though. One: Wouldn't tying a man to the front of our ride look a little bit suspicious?"

Hirschberg shrugged. Fair enough, it was valid point.

"And 2," Raine continued. "How the fuck is we meant to see where we're going?"

"Maybe someone should stay behind then?" Utivich piped up. The others looked up at him as if his suggestion had been even stupider than Hirschberg's.

"The fuck, dude?" Donny said, not impressed with the Little Man's idea.

"Yeah, man," Kagan responded. "Don't you think leavin' a man behind is a little dangerous?"

"Not necessarily," Utivich defended himself. "Ten men going isn't comfortable, but it is physically possible at least. Now we've got eleven and that just isn't going to work. Someone could stay, two people even, if you're worried about safety."

They looked to Raine. He hadn't said anything about Utivich's suggestion, which meant one thing; he was considering it. It was dangerous, that was for sure. No one ever got left behind.

"Come on, Lieutenant," Donny exclaimed. "We can't leave somebody behind. The Nazis, remember?"

"A good argument," Raine simply nodded his head. "But we got to deal with this fucker, and we certainly cannot do it 'round here."

"But, Lieutenant…" Donny tried again.

"Now I don't like either, Donny," Raine stopped him. "But it is what it is. Two men stay behind." There was a rumble of disagreement amongst the Basterds.

"Utivich," Raine looked up at where Utivich was standing. He looked a little nervous at how unpopular his suggestion really was, and he certainly did not like how Raine was calling him up on it. "Thanks for volunteering. And the other man will be…"

Raine looked around at his men to try and decide who would have to stay. It couldn't be Donny anyway, he was their not-so-secret weapon, and they needed him there. Stiglitz too would have to go with them, if only for the fear factor he brought against the Germans. Hirschberg and Omar were not good with subtlety either, so they were out. Sakowitz and Kagan were two of the most Jewish looking men he had ever met, keeping them here wouldn't be a good idea that was for sure. And Zimmerman could get a little trigger-happy too when he was nervous. He turned and looked over at Wicki. Suddenly another idea struck him.

"Wicki," he finally said aloud. "You speak German so it's gotta be you I'm afraid. Make sure Utivich here doesn't get himself killed."

"You're not serious?" Wicki responded. He didn't want to get left behind. First off it was dangerous, and even more than that he was ready for the kill this time. He had never felt more anxious or stressed in his life, and today's meeting with Ellis had only made it worse. Plus it had been weeks now since they had done any decent damage to the Nazis and he was not about to miss it.

"Wicki," Raine pointed to himself, his voice giving off a warning tone. "You better believe this is my serious face."

Wicki sighed, giving in to Raine's orders. Even if Raine hadn't been his commanding officer, Wicki felt like he was the type of man you didn't say no to. It was looking like he was going to have to sit this kill out. He silently decided to make sure Utivich found out how much that annoyed him later on.

"Load him up boys," Raine called over to Stiglitz and Donny. Both men grinned as they bent over and picked up Röderer, heaving him over to one of the jeeps roughly. The others followed them and began to take their places on the jeeps. Raine walked back over to Wicki and Utivich.

"Now," he began, clapping his hands together as if eager to tell them the plan. "Here's what you fellas are gonna do. Things being as they is, I can't be havin' you boys walking around the streets with all them Nazis around. So you go to that bar where Ellis is waiting, you fill her in and tell her she gotta hold you up for tonight."

"You sure that's such a good idea?" Utivich asked. Ellis hadn't let them down so far, but their arrangement was almost business-like. And that's how Utivich felt it should remain; business-like. Asking her to hide them seemed too risky, too trusting of them.

"It's your fuckin' idea," Raine reminded him. "I'm just fillin' in the details. And Godammit, you better keep your mouth shut. Now, go get yourself a couple of pistols, just in case you be needin' them."

Utivich nodded meekly and wandered off towards the others in order to get the weapons. He looked more than a little sullen. Raine watched him go. He knew the Little Man didn't care much for their Dutch friend, but he was going to have to grin and bear it. He had been warned by Raine, Omar and Wicki months ago not to give Ellis a hard time again, and Raine fully intended to let him have it if he forgot that warning.

"I don't believe you," Wicki told his commanding officer, his annoyance audible.

"I am doin' you a favour," Raine turned to face him again, trying to sound as authoritarian as he could. He had to remind Wicki who was still in charge here. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Welcome?" Wicki snapped. "I see what you're doing, and it isn't your problem."

"I ain't blind, Wicki," Raine responded coolly. "And while I don't approve of it, I do understand it. Nothing else needs to be said 'bout it. I don't know nothin'."

"You're unbelievable," Wicki replied, exasperated with Raine. He had reasoned Raine might have suspected something about him and Ellis, but he had thought that he would have at least overlooked it out of decency ,if not out of lack of interest. What was he trying to do? Play matchmaker? And with Utivich there as well?

"Now you look here," Raine actually sounded irritated now. "Like you said, it ain't my problem. But Wicki we both know how this is all gonna end. Kino is in less than two weeks, so you tell me now, you expect you're gonna get out of that alive?"

Wicki didn't say anything. When he had agreed to be part of the team for Operation Kino he had been warned that it was a near-suicide mission. They might be able to take down a lot of Germans, maybe even most of the High Command, but once things kicked off it was very unlikely that they would be leaving that theatre. He wasn't keen on the idea of dying, just the same as anyone, but he knew he had to do it. They needed German speakers and he and Stiglitz were the only men for that job. This mission needed him. It was only after he had come to terms with that he began to tell himself that it was all for the greater good, for a cause worth dying for and for his family.

"I know what you gotta lay down for this," Raine continued, his voice quieter now. "And I know it ain't easy for you. A man should take whatever comfort he get in times like these. As for Utivich… well, you'll think of something."

There was nothing more to say. Raine walked away, returning to the rest of his men., barking orders just like he always did.

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Earlier that same day, Ronnie hurried back upstairs to her post before anyone noticed she was gone. She and Ellis and been talking for ages it seemed, trying to catch up as much as they could. But being in the headquarters had been making Ellis edgy and their conversation had seemed a little stilted. It was only natural, Ronnie supposed. After her Müntze had been killed, being in the German headquarters must have been difficult for her, especially with Franken here to remind her of him. They arranged instead to meet later on at a bar, just before she met up with her date for the evening. She hadn't mentioned his name, so Ronnie was now extra curious as to who it might be. Rushing down the hallway she absent-mindedly bumped into a man's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, feeling even more flustered.

"Perfectly alright, Fraulein," the man smiled genially. He certainly was handsome, that was for sure.

"Hans Landa," he reached out his hand to shake hers. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, thanks," she giggled slightly, not quite sure why. She shook his hand politely. He had a very firm handshake. "I'm Ronnie, just a secretary here."

"Not _just_ a secretary," he insisted. "A secretary's work is very important, don't you think? Without a woman's touch how could men ever hope to achieve anything?"

"I'm glad you think so," Ronnie giggled again. A smooth talker. She knew the type and she could see right through the flattery, but he was handsome and charming and she didn't mind it all. "I've always maintained that I'm very important anyway."

"I'm sure you are, Ronnie," he continued to flatter. "But if you forgive me a moment, your accent? Is it Dutch?"

"Why, yes it is," she beamed at him. "All the way from Utrecht in fact."

"Splendid, indeed," he remarked. There weren't too many Dutch women walking around Nazi occupied France. In fact, Landa could only think of one right now, and he had been thinking about her for over week now, despite all the preparations for the premiere taking place. Had fortune just smiled upon him?

"You're from the Netherlands," he moved closer to the now grinning Ronnie. "How did such a lovely Dutch girl like yourself end up in Paris?"

"My boyfriend," she replied, slightly annoyed she had to admit to having a boyfriend, particularly one who looked like Franken and not like Landa. "He got promoted, and then he got transferred. Naturally he wanted to take me along."

"But of course," Landa nodded, still giving his most welcoming smile to Ronnie. "But who is the lucky man?"

"Haupsturmführer Günther Franken," she said, making sure se sounded proud. She did love to emphasise his new rank though after he had been promoted to replace Müntze.

Franken. That name was familiar to Landa. He had seen it mentioned several times in the files concerning one Ellis de Vries, stashed away in Hellstrom's office. He had been key in getting rid of Müntze, and had himself been accused of stealing the possessions of the wealthy Jews he had killed. They hadn't been able to prove anything, but Landa was fairly sure that he could if he wanted to. Fortune had indeed just smiled upon him.

"Tell me, Ronnie," he asked her, still sounding casual but positively giddy on the inside. "Since you are Dutch, would you happen to know the singer Ellis de Vries?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Ronnie enthused. What a coincidence? This relative stranger was bringing up the woman she had just met downstairs. "I was just talking to her actually downstairs."

"Really?" Landa was surprised. Here and he had no idea. She was more blatant than he had thought she was. Then again, he was the one who had thought time and time again that the best way to be inconspicuous was to be conspicuous.

"Yes," Ronnie laughed. "I just ran into her. She was meeting some officer who apparently wants to take her out. Although she was smart enough to know better than to tell me who he was."

Landa couldn't help but grin broadly. The bimbo had just told him absolutely everything he needed to know. It seemed he had not discouraged Ellis de Vries after all. Silly girl. Back to her old tricks again obviously. Whoever this unfortunate man might or might not be didn't concern Landa. He couldn't care less. If he was perfectly honest, there was no love lost between him and the vast majority of the idiots stationed here by the Reich. But she was doing exactly what he hoped she would do. Now she would walk right into his game, and what a game he was going to make it!

"How very interesting," he commented to Ronnie. "Such a small world we live in, is it not?"

"It would seem so," she grinned back at him. "Everybody knows somebody."

"Would you mind very much helping me quickly with something, Ronnie?" he asked her suddenly. "I'll make sure I will explain your absence to your Franken. But would you be able to help type up an arrest warrant?"

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Once again, I feel this chapter is very transitory. There's isn't much character development, but it is leading on to important and interesting stuff later on;-P The next chapter will actually focus some more on the Basterds and on Landa. After that we'll get back to Wicki, Ellis and Utivich. But that's all I'm giving away, I still need to keep you lot on your toes somehow!

Thank you, darlings. You really are darlings:D


	15. Getting Motivated

Chapter 15! Can you believe how close we're getting to 20. That's a little scary, but I'm getting more and more determined to not let this fall by the wayside. Its actually quite a good stress reliever, and with all my college stuff I REALLY need it these days. Its either that or comfort eating, and I am not willing to become a fat chick!!! Thank you guys for all you're great encouragement and support, I hope you're still enjoying it. I know I am.

I own nothing, but hopefully someday I will:)

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Landa walked with a spring in his step, his hands still holding the envelope containing the arrest warrant. He was one step closer to getting Ellis de Vries right where he wanted her, and he could hardly wait. The lives of young ladies usually didn't interest him, he found them pretty boring in fact. They were always so self-absorbed, and when they cried it sounded like nails being drawn down a blackboard. He found them rather irritating actually. Women were for good for one thing, and one thing only. But this woman had gotten herself involved in some very nasty business, and deserved a fate befitting as such. But not before he put the last piece of the puzzle in place.

What was her little secret? The thing that he was certain was there and yet could not quite place. Something that made her different. After all, what would drive a pretty young woman with a somewhat successful musical career to become nothing more than a murderous, conniving slut? It seemed like such a waste really. Pity.

Goebbels was sitting behind his desk, reading over something with a dissatisfied look on his face. In the corner, looking bored while she breezed through a magazine, was his mistress/translator, Francesca Mondino. Landa gently tapped on the door as he stepped inside.

"Ah, Hans," Goebbels looked up briefly, before returning to the page before him. "What can I do for you?"

"Reich minister…" Landa tried not to sound too amused. "You were the one who sent for me."

"What?" Goebbels looked up again, his expression agitated. "Did I? Oh, yes, of course I did. Sit down, Hans."

Landa sat down, trying to ensure his smile remained a smile and did not turn into a smirk. It would be too easy to smirk at Goebbels these days. As things unravelled for his precious Reich, the more Goebbels seemed to unravel as well. It was pathetic really. Deep down, Landa understood very well what would happen soon. Germany as they knew it was set for a fall, and none would fall harder that Hitler and his pets. With the progress the Allies were making, it seemed that it wouldn't be much longer before poor Goebbels would meet an unfortunate end.

Not that any of that mattered to Landa. He was going to make damn sure that he was not around when the walls came tumbling down. Whatever it took he would land on the right side. There was always a way for intelligent people like himself, he was not so blind as the rest of these Nazis. There would be a way.

"Is anything the matter, Reich minister?" Landa asked, after it became apparent That Goebbels had once again become absorbed by whatever he was reading.

"This letter," Goebbels held the piece of paper aloft, he sounded like an unhappy child. "This damned letter is from a certain singer, who shall remain nameless, and who has dropped out of performing at my premiere."

"Surely not?" Landa sounded convincingly outraged. "On such short notice."

It was no coincidence, or twist of fate in this instance. Landa had known exactly what he was doing when he had typed that very polite letter of dismissal to Frau Johanna Schütz, one of Goebbels and the Fuhrer's favourite singers. Booked to perform at the gala premiere of _Stolz der Nation, _Frau Schütz had been kindly informed that her services were no longer required, as it had been decided that the racier talents of one Ellis de Vries would be used instead. Then all it took was a similar letter sent instead to Goebbels and the deed was done. Poor Frau Schütz must have been terribly upset, but that was to be unavoidable in this case. Landa was going to keep Ellis exactly where he could keep an eye on her. If he had to be at this farcical premiere than so did she.

"It is perfectly outrageous!" Goebbels exclaimed. Miss Mondino calmly leafed through her magazine, well used to her paramour's little temper tantrums and unconcerned with the issue at hand. "How can we possibly have the reception without German music? That stupid woman is trying to make a mockery of me!"

"Reich minister, I am certain that she must have…" Landa knew it was always good to appear like the voice of reason in such situations. Goebbels may have been one of the most important men in Germany, but right now Landa was playing him like a wind-up toy.

"She is trying to make a mockery of me!" he repeated, now shouting. Miss Mondino looked up casually from her magazine, her interest only slightly piqued. "They're all trying to ruin me! First Zöller insists on changing the venue and now this! It's going to be a disaster. The greatest cinematic achievement in German history, and the premiere will make me a laughing stock."

The Reich minister was now standing, his face red and now slightly out of breath. He had had his outburst, and now he felt slightly better, if not a little foolish. His mistress merely rolled her eyes and returned to reading her magazine.

"Reich minister, Goebbels," Landa tried to hide his amusement. "I assure you I will give you a more than adequate replacement. In fact, I already know a woman absolutely perfect for the job."

"No, no," Goebbels insisted, shaking his head. "We can't have a French woman singing, it's out of the question."

"Oh no, she's not French," Landa smiled. "Dutch, in fact. But with a perfect German voice, impeccable diction and a wonderful accent as well."

"Really?" Goebbels didn't sound quite convinced, but Landa could tell he was intrigued by his suggestion. He was desperate after all.

"I assure you, sir. Her name is Ellis de Vries, and she is extremely popular amongst our men here. The officers in particular."

Goebbels shuffled uncomfortably, considering what Landa proposed. His brow was furrowed with anxiety and his fists clenched. Dutch was not German, but no one else was available. And besides, if the girl was already a hit amongst the men, surely she would be able to impress the aristocratic crowd who would be gathered for the premiere. He sat down slowly, finally deciding.

"All right, Landa," he conceded. "Get the girl. But I don't want some music hall trollop. Make sure she is presentable for our audience. This the who's who of Germany, Hans. Not the common soldiery.

"I'll make sure it is all taken care of, Reich minister," Landa beamed, delighted that once again, just as always, he had been able to get exactly what he wanted from this blathering idiot. It was just too easy sometimes.

"Yo, boss," Donny walked over Raine, his bat held over his shoulder. They were in a overgrown field several miles outside of Paris, and Röderer was still unconscious. Donny had to hand it to Stiglitz, when he knocked them out they really stayed out for a long time. This guy wasn't so much out of it as in a mini-coma.

"Donny?" Raine looked up at him, after having indulged himself with some of his snuff before any of the action started.

"You sure we made the right call in leaving Wicki and Smithy back there?" Donny asked. He didn't like questioning his commanding officer, especially one who he respected as much as Raine, but he felt uneasy about the whole thing still. And he was not the only one.

"Jesus H. Christ," Raine exhaled, visibly frustrated. "If one more of you boys asks me that question, I swear to God, I'm gonna shoot this Kraut, and then nobody's gonna have any fun."

"Dude, I get it," Donny explained. He did not want to piss Raine off, and he definitely didn't want to lose his chance to bash in this Nazi skull. "I know we needed the room. But I mean, Smithy? You know he don't like that chick."

"Well, that's what Utivich gets for suggestin' it in the first place," Raine replied. "Wicki will keep him in line. He won't let him say nothin'."

"If you say so," Donny shrugged. "You know, for such a smart guy, he can be a real stupid, can't he?"

"We all can when it comes to women," Raine nodded, unintentionally remembering Wicki. "But you better get yourself behind them trees for a bit, afore he wakes up. We need to be all 'bout the subtlety."

Donny grinned deviously, and began to walk off. The waiting was part of the fun. It meant he could really work himself up before he laid into that no good Nazi son of a bitch.

As he walked towards the trees that would act as his cover, he brought his baseball bat down before him. He read over all the names that were carved all over it. He remembered going to each and every single Jewish household he could find and asking them if they had anyone they were worried about in Europe. He remembered all of the people who had signed the bat. They all carved out a single name.

He had been psyched to go to Europe and to fight the Nazis. How dare they refer to his people as undesirables? How dare they decide that Jews had no place in their messed up world order? How dare they take whole families; men, women and children and torture, murder and mutilate them? It made his blood boil. He swore to make them pay for every life they took, and for all the innocence they stole.

But after he had gotten the names from the Jews he could find to sign the bat, it had become more. No longer was it a case of defending or avenging his people, now he had names. These were the names of actual people who were suffering, and who had loved ones worried sick about them. Some people had even shown him photographs of the relatives they weren't even sure were still alive. He had looked at their faces; the faces of suffering and the dead smiling back at him warmly. He had to choke back emotion when one lady showed him a picture of her nine month old grandson. Nine months old. Now, Donny was not an emotional guy, never had been, but he could still remember how he felt looking at that baby picture. What were the odds he was still alive out there?

It was not anger or injustice which Donny had felt after he came home from collecting the names. It had been despair. He had felt so tired and drained that he had just slumped down on the couch and tried to fall asleep. There had been a deep ache inside of him that would not go away, and he could still feel that when he thought back on it. All he could see was the names and faces. He looked down at the bat now. The names were still all there, some large, some small. Patches of dried blood seemed to punctuate them now. Blood for blood, he thought. It would never be enough.

He sat down amongst the trees, out of sight of the others, and looked down at his bat again. He would keep looking at it until he had passed through every feeling it brought up in him; sadness, injustice, pain, despair, longing and eventually anger. He would go through the names and through the faces, and rediscover the fire he had for what he was doing. Then when it was time, he would unleash hell on that scrawny, pathetic little Nazi.

Not far off, and waiting just like the rest of them was Stiglitz. While the rest of them talked and laughed, and did whatever else they did to pass the time, Stiglitz was lost in his own thoughts. As of late he found himself pondering over his role in this Operation Kino. He had no objection to the death of the Nazis, especially those bastards in the High Command, but he was beginning to wonder if he was really willing to die for it. He had never cared much for the Nazi regime, though politics had never really been his thing and they had managed to create jobs for the German people. He had never liked any sort of authority, whether it was a commanding officer, or the government or even his stepfather. Anyone who tried to tell him what to do would instantly earn his distrust. Why did they feel they needed to control him for? Raine wasn't so bad, he was a working class man who had earned his rank, and he spoke to his soldiers as equals, but still, if push really came to shove, Stiglitz was always going to do things his way.

The Nazis were the worst kind of authority. Obsessed with order and control, they would crush anything and anyone who stood in the way of their chokehold. There was no say or debate for anyone else. It was all a bunch of idiots telling everyone what to do. And that, Stiglitz did not like. He had been a lousy soldier, but a good killer. That's what had got him here. Punishing as many of those Nazis as possible would be a pleasure for him.

Then there was the matter of dying. Stiglitz was no shrinking violet, and he had always known that he was going to die a somewhat violent death, but this mission was effectively suicide. However he hated the Nazis, was he willing to die to stop them? He wasn't like the others, a fact he knew only too well. This was not a matter of principle, or of avenging the lost for him. Would he still die for this? If there was an afterlife, he would surely end up in hell, of that he was sure. If he was going to have to do this he would have to think like Wicki, and pretend that this was all going to be worth it.

But for now he would content himself with helping to deal with Röderer. He hadn't encountered this man before, but he was just the same as the rest of them. A man so young who had reached such a good position must have done enough damage to have rightly earned it. Pulling out his knife, he ran his thumb along the sharp edge making sure it was sharp enough to do the job, but not so sharp that it would completely painless. He was a perfectionist after all. It was all about moderation.

A yell came from Kagan. Röderer was coming around. What perfect timing. The others all gathered around the discombobulated German man, who seemed to be moaning himself back to consciousness. Devilish grins flashed across their formerly stoic faces. It was that time once again.

Raine knelt down before Röderer, smiling a friendly smile. He slowly took out his snuff box again, deciding to treat himself again.

"Mr. Röderer," he addressed him. "My name is Lt. Aldo Raine…"

Ellis was sitting down by herself in the bar, looking appropriately expectant and disappointed. She knew Röderer wasn't going to show up, that was partly her fault. But for the sake of appearances she would sit here for another while looking like she hoped he would still turn up. She would dutifully turn down drinks and chat-up lines from the drunken men all around her, assuring them that she was waiting for someone. Another dead man with her connected to him would probably spell the end for her, but as Donny had pointed out earlier, she was in too deep and there was nothing else for it now. A few minutes more and she would leave, looking wounded and embarrassed. Then it would be just a waiting game.

She sipped at her champagne. Hang the expense, she wanted a drink and for all she knew this would be the last drink she was going to have. A little Dutch courage was more than appropriate at the moment, she reasoned.

"Ellis!" a voice called over to her. She looked up, surprised. It was Ronnie again. She pushed and shoved her way through the bustling crowd, trying to navigate her way politely through the drunken and rather touchy crowd. It took several attempts before she managed to break through the crowd and make her way over to Ellis.

"Phew!" she exclaimed, laughing a little. "Made it."

"Ronnie," Ellis said, disbelievingly. "What are young here?" She then froze, making a horrible realisation. "Are you with Franken?"

"Nope," Ronnie laughed, giving a little guilty look to Ellis. "Günther's is working tonight. But if he asks, you didn't see me."

"Somehow I don't think I'll be running into him anytime soon," Ellis lied. If she got herself caught, she knew that Franken would be the first person to make himself known to her, making sure he had a front seat for the action, and that she wouldn't say anything that would land him in trouble.

"I'm glad I ran into you actually," Ronnie grinned. "Because I ran into a friend of yours today. A certain handsome detective in fact,"

"Landa?" Ellis could feel herself getting colder when she thought about him. What had he said to Ronnie? What had she said to him? Even know she could see the confidant, unsettling grin etched across his face.

"The very same," Ronnie giggled. "You must have made quite the impression on him, honey. He just kept talking about you, and asking me questions."

"Questions? What kind of questions?"

"Don't worry," Ronnie put a hand on her shoulder, and looked her in the eye. "First rule for us girls is to never tell men anything. I was very sweet and very coy instead."

Ellis felt a little relieved. Ronnie may play dumb, but she was a lot smarter than she looked. She knew exactly how to deal with men, and just how to keep them guessing. Being Ronnie's friend placed her in safer hands than she would have been in otherwise.

"But…" Ronnie looked like the cat that had got the cream. "He did tell me something. He probably wanted to tell you himself, but I happen to know that he wants you to sing at the premiere of Goebbels new film." The biggest smile was across Ronnie's excited face.

"What?" Ellis was unsure if she had heard her correctly. If she had, it still didn't make any sense.

"I know!" Ronnie squealed. "Can you believe it? This is going to be the most exclusive party Paris has ever seen and you are going to be singing at it. Half the people there are going to be all the big shots we've heard about in the newspapers and the radio broadcasts."

"And that's a good thing?" Ellis couldn't hide her horror now. "Singing for all those… Nazis. "

"What's wrong?" Ronnie didn't seem excited anymore. She didn't understand why Ellis seemed so unhappy about this. "You've always sung for them. Back at home, here in Paris. Think about your career, this will get you out of those dingy clubs. This could make you for life."

"As a Nazi collaborator," she snapped. She didn't want to take this out on Ronnie, it wasn't her fault. But she was so horrified, frightened and confused that she couldn't help it. There was nothing about this that made any sense. Landa was playing some sort of sick game with her. She did not believe for one second that he thought she was innocent.

"Ellis," Ronnie looked at her, confused. "You're already a collaborator. Don't you see that?"

Ellis buried her face in her hands. She absolutely refused to cry now, but she gritted her teeth and let out a groan in pain and frustration.

"Listen to me," Ronnie pulled Ellis' face up towards her again. Her voice was quiet now, and her face earnest. "We both know that in a few months this will all be over. Its too late for women like us, we're marked. People already are planning what to do with us when the Nazis are finished. We just have to make the best of time we have left like this. If you don't do this, then you probably never will. You'll never even get the chance to sing on another stage. Just do it Ellis."

"Ronnie…" she sighed. "I don't know… You don't understand…"

"Don't worry about it," Ronnie gave her hand a squeeze. "In fact, we should have more champagne to cheer you up."

She turned around and faced the crowd.

"We need another drink!" she declared to whatever men were looking or listening. "Who's buying?"

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Ah, the plot thickens:-P This chapter wasn't completely easy to write (I always freak out doing Landa) but like I said, this was good stress relief for me. The next chapter is already turning out to be fun to write and I expect that it and the chapter after it might not take me too much longer to write. Stuff is happening and I am excited:)

Thanks again, you beautiful people. I hope you're still having as much fun as me!


	16. Two Jews walk into a bar

Another chap in less than 24 hours? I told you I was having fun:) I hope you enjoy it anyway, because i am exhausted right now!

Disclaimer: Does exactly what it says on the tin.

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Wicki and Utivich walked into the packed bar nervously. Wicki always felt apprehensive going into these situations, but he was almost used to it by now. He had always been the man sent to infiltrate German ranks, able to speak German and more tactful than Stiglitz, and so he knew what he had to do. But he still felt nervous each time. Now especially he could feel his heart beat faster. Utivich felt worse. He had never had to go undercover before, and he knew that so much as one word could get them both killed. Wicki had given him a couple of phrases and made sure he could say them somewhat convincingly. But for the most part he was to keep his mouth absolutely shut.

Looking around at first they couldn't see Ellis anywhere, just dozens of German soldiers everywhere, mostly drunk. There were plenty of girls everywhere as well, and still no sign of Ellis. This wasn't a good sign. Wicki wondered whether she had already left and they were too late to find her, in which case they would be stuck on the streets for tonight, the thought of which was unappealing in the current circumstances.

A high-pitched laugh echoed across the room. Instinctively they looked over at the source. A red-headed tipsy woman was literally howling with laughter, having knocked over a champagne bottle. Initially Wicki thought nothing of it and almost looked away before noticing the blond woman sitting across from her, hand covering her mouth as she tried to stifle her laugh, although she still shook with the laughter. It was Ellis. And she had been drinking from the looks of it.

Both Utivich and Wicki exchanged anxious glances, before making their way over to the table. Ellis looked up just in time to see them coming over. At first she smiled upon seeing Wicki, almost not registering what it meant. She was just glad to see him. But then she realised that he really was there, along with Utivich, in a bar packed with Germans. What the hell were they doing? She was feeling a lot less giddy all of a sudden.

"Ronnie," she caught Ronnie's attention, knowing that she was going to have to get rid of her now. "Ronnie, you have to leave. If you drink anymore Franken will know what you've been up to."

"What are you talking…?" Ronnie looked at her, bewildered. She glanced upwards and saw the two men approaching them. She looked back at Ellis, giving her a knowing smile. "Oh, I see. Is that the reason you've been blowing off the guys tonight?" She snickered quietly, still tipsy.

Before Ellis could get rid of Ronnie, Wicki and Utivich had gotten to their table. Wicki glanced at Ronnie quickly before giving Ellis a concerned look. She gave him a panicked look in return. Looking at Utivich, she could see he was obviously terrified.

"I'll leave you, then," Ronnie grinned at the men, before finishing her drink quickly. She spotted Utivich.

"Well, hello," she smiled at him. He wasn't as handsome as the taller one, but he was definitely cute. He looked like a sweeter, gentler kind of man. She didn't know many Germans who were like that.

"And who might you be?" she looked directly at him.

"Nein!" Utivich said, panicked. He had no idea what this woman had just said to him. All the phrases Wicki had given him earlier had been completely flushed out his brain once someone had actually spoken to him. All he could remember was 'nein'. He was frozen. She gave him a confused look.

"I'm sorry, miss," Wicki spoke to Ronnie, silently wishing he could kick Utivich right now. "But my friend here is married."

"So is my boyfriend," she smirked at Wicki, before giving Utivich another smile. He still looked horribly uncomfortable.

"Well, forgive me," Wicki continued, slightly irked with her. "But we're here to see Miss de Vries, and we'd like to do some catching up."

"Fine," she said, sounding offended and glaring at Wicki. She picked up her handbag and stood, making sure she bumped into Wicki. Served him right for being rude. "I'll see you later, Ellis," she turned to her friend, who was not smiling anymore. "Let me know when you've gotten rid of this loser."

She walked off, her dignity intact still. But not before winking at the nervous Utivich. Ellis exhaled finally. Ronnie had been able to take her mind off things for a little while, with the help of a bottle of champagne and several entertaining stories about her less than chivalrous lover. It had felt to good to let things go for a little while, but now two of the Basterds were here, exactly where they shouldn't be.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed at Wicki, still in German. She knew Utivich wouldn't understand, but in the current situation she had no choice. He would simply have to put up with it.

"Is getting drunk in a German bar appropriate right now?" Wicki countered, unable to hide his annoyance. There were here out of desperation, but he couldn't help but feel irritated with her. The situation they found themselves in was dangerous, and yet here she was drinking champagne with Germans all around her. Besides Utivich couldn't understand them right now anyway.

"I'm not drunk," she retorted. "And even if I was it is not your concern."

"Drunk amongst Germans," Wicki snapped. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Stop it," she whispered angrily, aware that it would be very easy for them to be overheard right now. "Now, what are you both doing here."

"We need somewhere to stay tonight," Wicki told her.

"You're not serious?" she looked at him disbelievingly.

Utivich looked back and forth between Wicki and Ellis. He didn't understand what they were saying, but they both seemed pretty irritated for some reason. She looked defensive, and Wicki looked downright angry come to think of it. Why was he so mad? He supposed Wicki was just tense being around so many Germans and the only person who could shelter them being on the juice. Understandable really.

"We don't have much choice, Ellis," Wicki told her. "Will you help us?"

"Of course I will," she sighed. She looked him in the eye. How on earth would she be able to refuse him anything? "You know I will."

"Thank you," he replied. "We didn't think this would happen…"

"Shut up," she replied, not angrily, but still sharp enough. "Just follow me."

He nodded in response. She moved off and the two men followed after her. She walked quickly, ignoring anyone who might have tried to hassle her or get her attention. She had been able to relax briefly, but now she was even tenser than before. Utivich looked around nervously, no one was paying them the slightest bit of attention at least. Once they looked the part, the drunkards didn't suspect a thing. It made him relax a little bit more anyway. Wicki still felt aggravated. He hated how such stupid things were able to get at him now, but he just couldn't help it. He couldn't control what she did when he wasn't there, no matter how foolish she was being. He needed to chill out.

They walked along the darkened streets in silence, all of them too worried about getting caught to risk it. Ellis seemed to relax a little more once they reached her street in Montparnasse. Very few Germans hung around here after dark, at least before curfew anyway. They were a few streets away from the Bobino and other clubs, and that's where any Germans would go around here. They would be somewhat safe for now anyway. It wasn't long before they reached the building where her apartment was. Unlocking the door, she gestured for them to enter, which they did. She followed them inside, aware that the old woman who owned the building was watching from an upstairs window. She could think whatever she wanted, she was wrong and it didn't matter anyway.

Her apartment was small, a bedroom with a kitchen/living area combined and a bathroom. Utivich sat down on the chair, the whole place was pretty sparsely decorated, but he supposed that was only to be expected really. However glamorous being a night-club singer and Resistance spy might seem, it didn't pay very much obviously. Before she could come inside, Wicki stopped her suddenly.

"Just a minute, Smithy," he called in after Utivich. "We just need to talk logistics." Before Utivich could protest, Wicki closed the door again.

"What are you doing?" Ellis asked him.

"Listen," he began, deciding that German would be the best way to keep Utivich from listening in. "I'm sorry about earlier. It was petty."

"You are not doing this now," she rolled her eyes at him. However much she cared about Wicki, Utivich was here, and he did not need another reason to be suspicious of Ellis. "I was being foolish, and you were overreacting. It's sweet that you worry. Let's just go inside."

"Just wait a minute," he asked her. "We can make this work to our advantage. I'll tell Utivich that we each have to keep watch. I take the first one, and then he takes the second."

He was going to take Raine's advice. Everything considered, he did not have a very long life ahead of him. He was sick and tired of being embarrassed and hiding like a schoolboy with a crush. He was a grown man, albeit caught in this strange relationship. He wanted to be happy with someone else for once, even if was just for one time ultimately. He was tired of being alone for so long. It was a bit selfish though, he knew that. She was alone in the world just like him, and this thing that they had started would only end badly, it was wrong to kid her. But they both could be happy just once.

"It's prudent," she shrugged. "A bit unnecessary, but I suppose…"

"It means we get to be by ourselves for a while," Wicki told her.

"You're not being serious?" she looked at him disbelievingly. "You complain about me drinking, and yet you're thinking about that."

"Sneaking letters," he said flatly, looking her square in the eye. "Speaking in codes, stealing glances and pretending nothing is going on. That's all we do. It's stupid, and it's childish."

"We don't really have any other choice," she told him. "We only realised it too late."

"Just once can we act like grown-ups?" he asked, now putting his hands on her shoulders. "No hiding. Just being normal."

She crossed her arms, unsure of what to do or say. What he suggested was reasonable, and it wasn't like she didn't want to do it. But their situation was bad enough as it is. And right now, one of his comrades was also on the other side of the door. Hardly, the most subtle time to be romantic. But looking back at him made it hard to say no. Being sensible had never been her strong point, but her instincts were pushing her away from this. Still, what he was saying made a lot of sense. It did seem childish, the way they were carrying on. Perhaps it was time to act like real lovers.

"Men," she rolled her eyes again. "You only think about one thing. But all right."

Wicki smiled, and brought his hands to her face. She moved forward and kissed him, deciding that she had nothing to lose right now in doing so. Pulling back, she smiled back at him.

"This will just end in tears," she told him. "You do know that?"

"Yes," he replied, losing his smile. "So let's just enjoy ourselves while we can."

A few minutes later it was just her and Utivich left in the apartment, as Wicki took up his position near the stairs. It was a little awkward to say the least. Utivich had never really warmed to her, always a little bit sceptical of what she might do. When she had delivered each of the Nazi officers to them he had given her the benefit of the doubt, and perhaps even some begrudging respect. But he didn't have to like her as well.

But she had just given him some bread and cheese, and was currently busying herself with making him some eggs as well. So right now, she was in his good books. For over a year now he and the rest of the Basterds had been living on nasty tinned food, and the occasional vegetable or piece of fruit they were able to pilfer from a farm or village. Eggs, bread and cheese were heaven to him right now. She sat across from him after she gave him the omelette.

"You don't have to watch me eat," he told her. "You can go to sleep or whatever."

They wouldn't have very much to say to each other. There was no love lost between them, and quite frankly the silence seemed unsettling to him.

"I'm fine," she replied absent-mindedly. In truth her mind was far away right now, thinking about everything that had transpired, and whatever might be set to transpire next. More silence passed them by. Ellis' mind was still far away and paying no attention to Utivich who was eating ravenously, hungrier than he had realised.

"Why are you here?" she suddenly turned to him to ask. She couldn't explain it, but she really wanted to know all of a sudden. She understood Wicki's motivations for doing what he did, but the others were more ambiguous.

"There wasn't enough room in the cars…" he began.

"Not here here," she told him. "In France. In Europe."

"Oh?" he sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain it. Saying he wanted to get back at his parents didn't sound very admirable. "Well, what the Nazis are doing is wrong. A lot of people are upset about it, but I'm a Jew, so I'm really upset about it. I decided I wasn't going to sit around and do nothing about it."

"That's admirable," she told him. "Some people would be too scared, or wouldn't care enough once they'd finished reading the newspaper."

"Well, I kinda know what its like having to hide a bit," he admitted. "Not that anyone's tried to kill me before or anything, but… I guess my parents weren't all that proud of being Jewish."

"They think that Christians have it better?" she laughed.

"Not exactly," he explained. "But Presbyterian is more fashionable where I grew up."

"Ah," she understood what he meant. "That's a shame. Especially since none of it really matters at all, does it?"

"Doesn't it?" he remarked.

"Not really," she shook her head. "Very few people nowadays are truly passionate about it. Jew or Gentile. Whether you believe in it or not, its all so similar sometimes. None of it is worth hating anyone for."

"That makes sense, I guess," he nodded. There was a truth in what she said, and he wasn't going to deny it. "But what about you? What made you into a spy?"

She laughed a little when he said the word 'spy'. It seemed so ridiculous. It was fair enough to call her that she supposed, after all she was hiding her identity in order to gain information. Spy was the appropriate word really, but it still seemed funny.

"Very bad luck," she told him. "I didn't really want to do anything about war or Jews or anything. I just didn't want to get killed."

She paused, without knowing it she had begun to play with the locket around her neck.

"But then," she continued. "I lost everything and everyone. After that, it suddenly was easy for some reason. I wanted to do something, anything, to make a difference. Payback, I suppose, not righteousness. They told me what to do, and I did it."

"I'm sorry," Utivich said quietly. What else could he say? He had been so sceptical of her, and now he felt guilty for it. She was not a crying, hysterical mess. No, she was worse than that. She seemed cold and detached as she spoke about it. Numbed. That was pain he could never understand.

"But how can you do it?" he asked her, aware he was probably crossing that thin line he had been warned about. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to know. How could she bring herself to smile and flirt with the people responsible for ruining her life? How could she sleep with men who she knew were part of the machine that stole her family and her very identity? Didn't it make her feel sick? How could she sleep at night after doing it?

"What?" she asked. "Sleep with them?"

He looked away, embarrassed again and feeling guilty. He should have known better. If she told Wicki or Raine he was dead meat.

"I haven't slept with as many as you think," she informed him, not really offended by the question. "Most of the time alcohol does my work for me. Whoever thought up prohibition in your country is an idiot, it's saved me more than once. There have only been a couple of times that I've had to do otherwise."

"I don't blame you," he said, trying not t offend her anymore than he already had. "Listen, I'm sorry I've been hard on you sometimes. Its just that… when I knew what you'd have to do sometimes, it made me wonder about what kind of person could do that."

"Healthy scepticism," she smiled at him. She couldn't hold being cautious against him, it was all too understandable. "It just tells me that you're a romantic at heart."

"Does it?" he sounded surprised. How did being cynical and insulting her make him a romantic?

"You couldn't understand how I could sleep with the enemy, and then go on to betray them. You think sex has to mean something, and that there has to be some feeling to it. And that makes you a romantic."

He nodded, it was a fair enough argument. He had never seen himself as a romantic type. The flowers, poems and all the jazz had never been his thing, but he had never understood people who just slept with however they could whenever they could. Surely that was degrading?

"A soft touch then," he reasoned, shrugging his shoulders.

"Not really," she disagreed. "You can't be soft to do what you do. But I like seeing that there is romantic amongst your ranks. But maybe you could be nicer to me from now on."

"Deal," he nodded. "But only as long you don't tell anyone I'm a romantic."

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Well, there you have it. I'm bloody knackered after writing that, it was a bit of a marathon session for me, and I know have lots of work to catch up on. (Eek!). I was having trouble with the more romantic bits, I just get paranoid of turning it into melodrama or cheesiness (my head just kept repeating Twilight to me over and over again. That is my nightmare!). But I have faith that the people reading this will understand what I'm trying to do. There's no sweeping orchestral score, no long lingering angsty looks or bitter emotions being left unsaid. All that stuff is the enemy here. I want this to be a real, understandable and relatable kind of relationship.

Also I wanted to resolve the tension between Utivich and Ellis. Understanding between those two is very important, and you'll understand why later.

Thank you for reading, it is much appreciated and you're an absolute darling:D


	17. Goodnight and Go

Chapter 17 for your viewing pleasure. This chapter was written with relative ease, so hopefully that means its good! I always get a bit nervous about these things, but so far things have been okay. Fingers crossed this is the same!

Again, I don't own these things, although I would like to...

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The hours dragged past slowly it seemed. But two o'clock was fast approaching, as was the end of Wicki's shift. She had thought Utivich might try and get some sleep but obviously, like her, he was restless. They had some short conversations, being somewhat more at ease with each other, but mostly the time passed in silence. She felt anxious, although she wasn't sure why. There was just ten more minutes to go, but she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"What do you plan to do?" Utivich asked, deciding to take another stab at conversation. "I mean, once all of this over?"

"What?" she looked up. She hadn't really been paying attention.

"When the this whole thing is over," he repeated once more. "What do you think you'll do?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. She genuinely had no idea actually. Looking over it now she had never thought about there being an ending to the war, or even being able to see it. Doing what she did, she had just assumed that she would eventually would get killed. She didn't want to die, and she certainly wasn't resigned to it, but it seemed like an inevitability. Even if the Allies released Europe from the grip of the Nazis she supposed that someone out there would come for her. Some German, or even people who ignorantly saw her as a collaborator. But if she lived, what would she do then? Sing? She had basically no money, and she really didn't feel going home.

"Honestly," she told him. "I've never even thought about it. I'm just glad I wake up each day."

"You don't know what you'll do at all?" he asked her, surprised by her response. "Will you go home?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, now leaning against the door to her very small bedroom. "It makes sense. But I don't think I'd like it there anymore."

"Really?"

"I'd go home and all I would do is wonder where so many people have gone," she said quietly. "I suppose I could go anywhere, there's nothing to hold me down to one place."

"I guess," he understood her logic. Life would never go back to what it was for her before the war, why emphasise that fact? "But isn't there anything you want to do?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged now. "You're a woman, don't you want to get married or have kids?"

"Married with kids?" she laughed. "Believe it or not, I haven't thought about that either. It's strange, but that's the sort of thing I just assumed happened to everyone. Everyone eventually got married, everyone eventually would have children. I never put much thought into doing it."

"So, you don't want it?" he surmised from her response.

"Not necessarily," she considered. "It might be nice. But I'd be a terrible wife. In fact, I'd probably make a very miserable wife. And as for kids, they'd probably end up taking care of me instead. No, actually. I don't think it would be a good idea."

No, it wasn't a good idea. But it was a nice idea anyway. In fact, she liked the sound of it sometimes, whenever it did cross her mind. She had no family anymore, and she missed them terribly. A little part of her reasoned that maybe having her own family might fill the gap that had been left within her. It could be nice to love and nurture something, even though a few years ago she might have perceived that as being dreadfully boring. Having a husband mightn't be so bad either. Although her love life could be seen as a series of failures, bad decisions and even worse endings, she ultimately liked the idea of something lasting forever. She found the concept of waking up beside the same man every morning endearing. But if she was honest with herself, it wasn't likely to happen for her. She was with Wicki in a strange sort of way, but she wasn't going to kid herself. What had brought them together was guilt and grief, and who knew if they survived if they could even make it work.

"You'd like that though, wouldn't you?" she smiled at Utivich, trying to divert the attention from herself. "A wife and children."

"I guess," he laughed as well, realising how personal the question was really. "Same as you. I just assumed stuff like that would happen eventually."

"Very romantic," she remarked with a smirk.

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically. "Very funny."

A knock came from the door. They both looked up, Utivich cautiously heading towards the door. He unlocked it and opened it slowly. Wicki was on the other side, looking tired. It was now Utivich's turn to keep watch in the stairwell. It was a bit of an overly careful thing to do he thought, but it was better safe than sorry.

"Your turn," Wicki informed him, pushing past him and sitting down. He really did feel exhausted, having not slept in over 24 hours. Utivich regretted not getting a couple of hours sleep now. He was already a bit fatigued, but he was going to be worn out completely by the time they went back to the Basterds. This was not going to be fun. At least he wasn't hungry anymore. He picked up his gun, and walked out into the dark hallway. It felt cold. At least that would keep him awake for now.

Wicki leaned back in the seat, and sighed deeply. He felt so tired, cold and hungry and he could barely keep awake anymore. Closing his eyes, he was brought round again by a warm sensation on his forehead. He opened his eyes again. Ellis had just given him a kiss on his forehead. He smiled and propped himself up again despite still feeling exhausted. She had moved off into the kitchen and began to make him something to eat as well. If little Utivich had been so hungry, she could only imagine how Wicki was feeling right now.

Once Wicki caught the scent of the food, he got up and went to the table. As soon as she placed the same food she had given to Utivich before him he tucked in. Like Utivich he was sick of tinned food and dodgy vegetables, and he was so hungry right now. She gave him an amused look. It was hardly her finest culinary work, just an omelette, some bread and cheese, but it was nice to see it was appreciated.

"Thank you," he said finally, after finishing his meal. He felt more revived now that he had eaten something. "I _really _needed that."

"I noticed," she smiled.

"How was Utivich?" he asked her. He knew the two of the didn't get along very well, mostly due to Utivich. He dreaded to think what might have been said between them while he wasn't there. Utivich had a good heart, but often he could have an even bigger mouth, and Ellis could have quite a temper and was more than able to stick up for herself.

"Fine," she reassured him, sitting down across from him, and taking his hand. "I think he trusts me a little bit more now. He's actually quite nice."

"He's a good kid," Wicki agreed. He felt relieved that they had both managed to contain themselves and get along.

"He's all right," she shrugged.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," Wicki said. "The circumstances are ridiculous, and I know it's a lot of trouble for you…"

"Don't apologise," she stopped him. "Don't be a martyr. It is what is it. If we all didn't help each other than we'd probably all be killed anyway. Not that it matters now."

"What do you mean?" he looked at her puzzled. She didn't seem as happy as she had been just moments ago. "Are you worried about giving us Röderer? They won't be able to pin it on you directly."

"When has that ever mattered?" she shook her head. "If they even so much as suspect you, you're finished. But that's not it."

"Then what is it?" he didn't like where this was going. She had been spooked this afternoon, but now she seemed upset, although not trying to show it.

"Landa's going to kill me," she said flatly. "He's playing games, but I know he's going to do it." She paused, unsure whether she should divulge any of this to Wicki. They would try and enjoy themselves tonight, but she couldn't lead him any farther down the wrong way. "He's even gotten me a job. Sick bastard."

"A job?" Wicki's voice was quiet, and she couldn't quite gauge the expression on his face. "What job?"

"Singing at whatever premiere they're having in Paris," she sighed. "God knows, he might even try to kill then and there."

The premiere. Wicki could help but stiffen now at the sound of it. She had no idea what was going to go down that night, in more ways than one. He was going to be there as well, along with Stiglitz and enough dynamite and ammunition to bring the house down. Landa was putting her in place for some reason, but everyone in that building was going to die that night. But he couldn't tell her that, no matter much he felt the urge to, especially now. He had been forbidden, just like everyone else, from talking about it at all by Raine. But he was pretty sure Raine didn't factor on somebody's girlfriend being there.

"You can't be there," he stated abruptly. "You just can't."

"I have to be," she reminded him. "Remember? If I don't play along with him everyone else in the club will pay for it."

"So you'll put yourself in the line of fire?" he asked. She thought he sounded almost annoyed with her.

"Let's not talk about it," she suggested, kicking herself for bringing it up in the first place. "We finally get some time to ourselves, and we're going to squabble like we spend too much time together."

Wicki exhaled sharply. He didn't like it, he didn't like at all, and yet he couldn't explain to her why that was. She thought he was just concerned something might happen to her, when in fact he knew something would happen to her. He had to bite his tongue not to tell her. He owed it to Raine and the others, but he would have to tell Raine about these new circumstances. He was going to make damn sure that she wasn't going to stick around when things went down.

"You're right," he agreed. He smiled only meekly at her, still unhappy about the whole thing. "I'm just concerned about this tendency of yours to get yourself in trouble."

"I thought that was the reason you liked me," she joked.

Outside in the hallway, Utivich paced back and forth. He had attempted staying still, and even sitting down to keep watch, but he kept almost falling asleep. Pacing and moving was all he could do to keep awake. The hallway was drafty too, which only added to his discomfort. All he could think about right now was a nice soft bed somewhere warm and safe. That was what he intended on doing as soon as he got home. If he got home, that was. Some guys might decide on celebrating or God knows what else, but he thought about sleeping peacefully for the first time in nearly two years. Just sleeping for days on end. That was his idea of Heaven right now.

He was glad to be here actually. At last he felt like he understood their Dutch ally a little better. He understood he could trust her now anyway, having seen the more human side to the double agent. Deep inside he felt certain that she wasn't going to shirk away from doing what had to be done, and she wouldn't let them down if she could help it. She had nothing to lose. It was reassuring almost.

He kept moving, knowing that he had to stay awake and alert. He wasn't going to let the side down. Hours passed and he was becoming more and more worn out, but he was able to remain conscious for the most part.

It was almost six o'clock in the morning when Ellis woke up. She had set an alarm, but woke up before it went off as if by instinct. She hadn't gotten much sleep, but she was surprisingly alert. She sat up and turned off the clunky alarm clock, the last thing she wanted to hear now was an alarm going off. She turned back and looked at the sleeping Wicki. It seemed for the first time ever his expression wasn't worried, in fact he looked peaceful. She smiled, and shook her head.

"Wake up," she whispered, nudging his shoulder in order to rouse him. He moved only slightly, swatting away her hand. She laughed at him. Typical man.

"You have to get up, soldier," she nudged him harder. This time he opened his eyes, giving her a fake look of irritation.

"I'm not getting up," he croaked. "Now, lie back down."

"If I lie back down," she told him. "Then I'll fall back to sleep, and no one will be awake to get you back to your friends."

"They'll be fine," he said, closing his eyes again. He felt warm and comfortable right now, and he really didn't want to move and ruin it. This was probably the best and happiest he had been in a very long time. Reaching up, he pulled her down beside him again, wrapping his arms around her. The warmth felt great, just bare skin on skin.

"Stop it," she laughed. She tried to pull back, but not very hard. "I'm serious, they'll think I've killed you both."

"But its warm and comfortable," he reminded her. "And I can't remember the last time I got to sleep in a real bed."

"This mattress is paper thin," she responded. "You might as well be sleeping on the ground."

"Maybe," he smiled. "But on the ground I generally don't have someone to hold onto."

"Really?" she jested. "Dark lonely nights in the middle of nowhere. Don't tell me you boys don't snuggle up sometimes."

"Don't think I haven't gotten offers," he joked right back at her. "You're lucky, you know."

"Lucky? If you say so."

She gave into impulse and kissed him, then lay down on his shoulder and draped her arm across his chest. She knew they had to get moving, but right now she was happy and she didn't want it to end either. When would they ever get to be together again, especially like this? Against her better judgement, she knew she had fallen too far and too fast, but at this moment in his arms she couldn't regret it. It was a long shot, but she couldn't help but hope that maybe they both would see the end of this war and beyond.

Wicki felt the same. Sadness had brought them together, but at this moment they were both happy, and happier than they had thought they would be. Maybe he did love her? He couldn't be sure, but the feeling was there, and it was growing. Would they be able to be happy like this again? Running his hand up and down her back he hoped so.

"Can I ask you something?" he said out of the blue. "Ellis isn't your real name, is it? It's nice, but what is your real name?"

She considered whether she should tell him or not. Was she even that girl anymore? It had been a very long time since anyone had called her anything but Ellis.

"Rachel Stein," she finally said quietly. She trusted him, and who knew, maybe someday she could be Rachel Stein again. "Not as catchy, though."

"Rachel," he repeated with a smile. Very Jewish, and pretty as well. "I like it."

"It's better than Wilhelm anyway," she teased. "Can I ask you something, then?"

"It's only fair," he agreed, closing his eyes and nuzzled against her forehead.

"Do you think we have some sort of a future?" she instantly regretted saying it. She sounded like some sort of possessive girlfriend, and she wasn't even sure if she was his girlfriend. The title itself even sounded embarrassing.

"Maybe," Wicki considered. He knew it was misleading, he didn't have much longer left, but he didn't want to admit it. If things were different he liked to think that perhaps there was a future for them both, maybe even together. "You never know. But I'd like to think so."

A loud knock came from the door just as they were both beginning to drift off again, content in each other's arms. They both jolted with surprise. Another knock came and they froze, not even daring to breath.

"Guys?" came Utivich's voice. They both exhaled with relief. "Ellis? Are you guys awake."

"Just a minute," Wicki called out. They both got out of the bed quickly and quickly began trying to dress again, their quiet moment finished. Throwing on her slip and a nightgown, she began to make her way to the door, knowing it would give Wicki more time to get back into his uniform again. Wicki stopped her quickly before she could leave the bedroom, opting to kiss her once more before they would have to adopt their professional pretence again. Ellis made her way to the door and opened it.

"Could you make anymore noise?" she asked Utivich, annoyed at how he had brought an end to their happiness. "I have neighbours, you know."

"Sorry," he apologised, a little embarrassed when he saw that she wasn't dressed yet. "But we have to meet the others in thirty minutes and I was afraid you guys were still asleep. Where's Wicki?"

"He's just washing his face," she lied. She felt guilty for snapping at him, after all, they had only started getting along last night. "Do you want some coffee? I only have a little and it's not very good. But you look like you need it."

"Thanks," he smiled, coming inside and sitting down. She went over to the kitchen area and began to make the coffee for him. He looked absolutely exhausted, poor guy. She supposed they all looked tired though. No one had slept that much and they were all somewhat on edge. She hoped that Raine would let them both rest a little at least today.

"We need to get moving," Wicki said, walking into the room. "We're going to be late."

"Relax," she told him. She wasn't going to let Utivich leave here without something to keep him going. She gave no indication of affection towards Wicki, all too aware of Utivich's sleepy presence. "Have some coffee. Raine knows I'm usually late anyway, you'll be fine."

Within a few minutes both men had had some coffee and eaten something. The time passed in silence, with Wicki only occasionally asking Utivich about how his watch had gone. Soon they were ready to go. Ellis had to admit she felt sad that their time together was over.

"Okay, now we really have to go," Wicki said, getting up from the table. "Ellis, get dressed, you're coming with us."

"I can't," she replied, surprised by this revelation. "I have to help out at the club, I can't just not turn up."

"You have to tell Raine about Landa," Wicki told her. "And about the premiere."

"Why?" she asked, folding her arms defiantly. "There's nothing he can do about it, and I can't get out of it."

"What are you guys talking about?" Utivich glanced back and forth between them again, confused as to what they each meant. He really hoped that Wicki hadn't accidentally divulged the classified information on Operation Kino to her. If he had they were in trouble. "What about Landa?"

"She's got information Raine's gonna want to know," Wicki told him, before turning back to Ellis. She was being stubborn, and he couldn't help but smile at her. He loved her obstinacy, and even in the morning with no make-up she looked as lovely as ever.

"Now get dressed," he told her.

"Fine," she relented. "But now you are really going to be late."

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Thanks for reading and reviewing guys, you're such a loyal bunch and I hope that you keep enjoying what I do:) I might be able to get another chapter out sooner this time, as I see to have the flu (not swine flu though!) and as such have a lot more free time.

If you found this cheesy, please feel free to kick me!


	18. Why Does Anybody Love?

Ta-da! Chapter 18:) Rather bulky to write, but one of those very necessary chapters I feel. Don't worry, Landa will be back in the next chapter;-P

Also, the very lovely and very talented **Lithium8****9** was kind enough to think of me in my flu-ish condition, and even mentioned me in her _kick-as_s fanfic and for that I am very grateful:) In case you didn't know Lithium is the author of one of the best IB fanfics here **'The Infamous Adventures of the Basterds'**. I don't think anyone has quite got the characters down as well as they are written in that story, and I love it! Plus it is SO tense! So please, raise your glasses and let's hear it for the wonderful Lithium89!

Disclaimer: Yeah, you know...

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Although it was the time of the year which usually saw things warming up a bit, Paris was absolutely freezing. Utivich and Wicki were a little bit protected due to their stolen army uniforms, which were made to endure. But Ellis, despite her large coat and wise choice of trousers for the occasion, was so cold that her teeth chattered and she couldn't stop shaking. As they moved along the Parisian streets she couldn't help but remember the cosy bed and warm apartment she had just left. Her tiredness didn't help either, in fact when coupled with the cold it made her almost want to cry. She was not up for this, and she swore under her breath at Wicki for making her come.

Utivich just kept his head down and kept moving. He was cold, tired and now nervous as they passed more and more people. He tried to tell himself that once they were with Raine and the others they would be able to go find some shelter somewhere and just rest for a little while. He tried to tell himself that, but he knew that it wasn't true. More than likely as soon as they met up again they would just be instantly on the move, looking for Nazi patrols and trying not to get shot. No rest for the wicked, he reasoned.

As Wicki walked slightly ahead of the others he looked back to see how they were doing. Utivich looked miserable and exhausted, but he was resolute and determined to keep going. Ellis on the other hand, looked about ready to collapse. She couldn't control how much she shook in the freezing morning air. He felt a pang of guilt at making come with them. He knew that Raine had to know everything she knew, but right now it was hard not to feel sorry for her trembling figure. It made her look smaller, and more vulnerable, and he didn't like seeing that.

"Ellis," he stopped walking and addressed her. "Walk with me for the warmth. You look like you're about to die."

"I feel worse," she groaned. She walked over to him, coming in close beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hoping it warm her up a little bit more.

"A couple," Utivich said behind them, smiling.

"What?" they both turned around and looked at him in surprise. Fair enough, the gesture was chivalrous, but was it so obviously romantic as well?

"Its more convincing," Utivich said quietly, worried his American English might be picked up by passersby. "Before it looked like we were arresting her or something. But now it looks a little more natural. It's a good idea."

"Hear that?" she said jokingly. "We must make a nice couple." She had to laugh. They had both gotten a bit of shock there, but it seemed silly now.

"After you, darling," Wicki grinned in return, also laughing a little.

They all began to continue along their way, Wicki now with his arm wrapped around Ellis' waist and her cuddled in close to get as much heat as she could. It was not affection it was desperation. It felt a little bit warmer at least, but not very much. She was still shaking and her teeth refused to stop rattling inside her mouth. So far the only extra heat Wicki was giving her was the warmth breath she could occasionally feel against her ear. It wasn't great, but at least it was something. She was glad it was Wicki holding on to her obviously, and that Utivich hadn't thought of it first. Although, Utivich probably wouldn't have said or done anything had the thought occurred to him. He would have felt far too awkward about it. After all, they were barely friends now as it was.

Utivich was only a couple of steps behind them now, very convincingly playing the third wheel. He had to admit, he did buy them as a couple. Wicki had always been the most debonair of the Basterds. Probably due to his being European and from a good family, unlike most of the others. He was a quiet and fairly reserved guy, who was always polite, except of course where Nazis were involved and scalps needed to be collected. All in all the kind of guy girls generally went for. It helped that he was relatively good looking too, not in a stop and stare kind of way, more understated than that. And Ellis, well, she was beautiful, he wasn't going to deny it. She seemed like the type of woman who would take no nonsense form anybody, but who managed to get along with most people just fine anyway. As he had also seen, she could be warm and funny too. Yeah, he could buy Wicki and Ellis as a couple. They seemed like each other's 'type'. And it wasn't as if they didn't have a lot in common.

As for him. Well, he wasn't really anyone's type. He was fairly small, with a big nose, and ears which he felt stuck out just a little too much, although no one had ever commented on them to him as such. He sometimes got described as cute, and that was good enough for him. Girls who liked cute guys generally were less hard work than the ones who were harder to please. And as for cute girls, well, he had absolutely no problem with that either. In fact, he liked them quite a lot.

That's when it hit him. Nothing shocking or painful, but the realisation hit him of how much he missed girls. Forget the food, the cigarettes and the bed, all of a sudden he really missed girls. Not just for the obvious reason, but also for all the other things he now realised girls possessed or did which men just did not do. They always smelt nice for one, unlike ten army men who were forced to live mainly in the woods. He missed female company after going nearly two years without it. The closest they had was Ellis, and they only saw her every few weeks, if not once a month. There wasn't any specific girl waiting for him at home, but he certainly was going to go back and find one. He was twenty-five after all, that seemed like a good age to think about settling down.

As he pondered these things to himself they continued their journey, now walking through the darker and murkier parts of the city, trying to get back to the square. At least the tightness and closeness of the streets meant that they were shielded from the wind, and sometimes they could even feel heat coming out of the buildings as they passed them. Fairly soon they saw the opening onto the square that had become so familiar to all of them.

"I have to let go now," Wicki whispered to Ellis. She nodded, understanding that while Utivich suspected nothing, the others might be a bit baffled at the sight of her and Wicki holding on to each other. He let go and she moved away slightly, instantly shivering at the cold. Holding on to Wicki hadn't helped all that much, but she certainly hadn't minded.

"Well, it's 'bout fuckin' time!" Raine exclaimed loudly as he saw them walk into the square. When he saw Ellis was with his men he regretted it though. He had always gotten a slap from his mother whenever he cursed in front of a woman and a small part of his brain still thought that slap would come now, even though mama was long gone at this stage. "Now what's our favourite Dutchie doin' here?" he asked, casting a suspicious glance at Wicki.

"She's got news about the premiere," Wicki told him, walking over. "It seems…"

"Godammit Wicki!" Raine marched over, stopping him from speaking further. He spoke in a low voice now, an angry whisper at the Private. "Now what I done tell you about that premiere? You don't tell nobody, and I mean nobody, Casanova. Do not tell me that you were stupid enough to spill the beans as soon as your 'friend' there her batted them eyelashes."

"No, of course not," Wicki insisted, slightly insulted that Raine thought that of him. He was not the kind of man who turned into putty in a woman's hands, he knew when secrets were better left unsaid. "She was the one who brought it up. Landa's doing the security and he's made sure she's there that night."

"You don't say," Raine looked slightly nervous now. He did not like this. Not one bit. "And you're sure that it's the same premiere? And that it ain't no trick?"

"Positive," Wicki assured him. "Landa's not being very careful with the security if he's putting a person of interest in there. He's up to something, and I don't think we should let her go."

"Of course you don't," Raine patted him on the shoulder, before turning to Utivich. He beckoned the little man to come closer, whilst moving away from Wicki a little bit. Utivich obliged him and walked over.

"Utivich," Raine began, his voice still low. He tried to make sure Wicki wouldn't overhear him now. "Wicki here seems to think that Ellis is in a heap of trouble and that Landa character's up to somethin' at the premiere. But now I'm thinkin' that maybe it ain't all it seems. S'all a little bit convenient, isn't it? Suspiciously so."

"Lieutenant?" Utivich didn't know exactly what Raine meant. He had gathered that Ellis had information about Kino, but was it that substantial? Why did Raine, who had trusted her so much, seem so uneasy right now?

"Thing is," Raine continued quietly. "Much as I trust Wicki, I'm thinkin' his judgement may not be as good as usual. And as for Ellis, well I like her an' all, but she ain't one of us. What I need to know from you, Smithy, is do you think we can trust her?"

It all seemed too shady for Raine's liking. Ellis had never let them down before, but now she was in danger, more danger than they were perhaps. Landa had just interrogated her and she was talking about getting out, and then all of a sudden he gives her a job at the most important event the Germans were holding this year? It wasn't entirely unlikely that she had made a deal to save her own skin, and while he hated thinking that way about someone who had only done them good, he couldn't afford to be blind. Wicki was a smart guy, but he was involved with her now and for all he knew that could be her plan exactly. God knows, he wouldn't be the first man she led astray. But Utivich was sceptical of her, maybe he would be able to see what Wicki missed.

"Can we trust her?" Raine asked him again.

Utivich thought about it. He had been the one who had voiced the biggest doubts about Ellis. A double agent was hard to trust, especially one who got involved as much as she did. But that had changed now. He knew her better. He had spoken to her about so much last night, and she had even shown him the picture of her parents and brother when he asked. She had nothing to lose, and she certainly wasn't a friend of the Germans.

"We can trust her, sir," he said, sure of himself. "She's on our side."

Raine just nodded, giving a thoughtful look to Utivich. Utivich was probably the smartest out of them all, and if he thought they could trust her in this, then they would trust her. He turned from the young private and over to Ellis.

"Ellie, c'mere," he beckoned. He also summoned up Stiglitz and Donny who walked up dutifully, leaving the others to look a little bit baffled as to why they weren't included. When questioning someone he found it good to have the least friendly-looking Basterds by his side. Wicki and Utivich stayed exactly where they were, not summoned either. Ellis walked over cautiously, still cold, but a lot better now that they were completely shaded from the wind. Why had he called the other two? She felt uneasy suddenly.

"Wicki says Landa's given you a job." Raine said to her, trying to give nothing away in either his face or his voice. "What job might that be?"

"He needs a singer for his premiere," she informed him. "And he's already after me, so why not give me that job? Keeps me in sight."

"What premiere are we talking about?" Donny asked, deciding to also take the inquisitor side. He didn't like the thought that somebody might know what they were up to. Even if she was on their side, she wasn't one of them and this wasn't her mission.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Some propaganda film. Its about a German who killed hundreds of Americans or something like that."

"Frederick Zöller," Stiglitz said quietly, glancing briefly over at his two colleagues.

"No talking," Raine put a hand up, warning both men to be silent for now anyway. "Why does he want you there if you are a suspect in a murder investigation? Hardly seems like something the head of security would do."

"I don't know why," she told him, not liking the tone he was taking with her. "I have no idea why he chose me. For all I know he's not able to prove I'm involved, but he still wants to get at me."

"I'm thinkin' you should turn him down then," Raine suggested.

"Are you dense?" she asked him, irritated with him now. "What do think happens to people who tell a man like him no. He'll get what he wants no matter what."

"I am tellin' you now, Ellie," Raine interrupted her sharply. "And I really shouldn't be tellin' you nothing, but you cannot, I repeat, cannot be at that premiere."

"You have something planned?" she looked at him in surprise. It was the only logical explanation. They had something planned for that very night, and her being there would only get in the way of things.

"Who says we got something planned?" Donny snapped accusingly at her.

"Its rather obvious," she shot back at him. "Why else would you have such a problem with me being there."

"How astute," Donny commented, hoping that he had just used that word correctly, although English was her second language so maybe it didn't matter. Raine just rolled his eyes. When would Donny learn that when it came to questioning, Raine was only counting on him for intimidation. Stiglitz seemed to understand it well enough. He was staring hard and standing appropriately still.

"Anyway," he continued, ignoring Donny's 'astute' comment. "Whatever you _think _we might be doing, you just can't be there. Tell your boy Landa you're just gonna have to let him down this time."

"My _boy _Landa?" she said curtly, her voice slipping into the dangerous quiet tone of an irritated woman. She was tired, cold and fed up at this stage, she wasn't going to take anymore of Raine condescending. After all, she had been the one bringing them officers all this time. "I don't think you understand me, Lieutenant. I don't get to say no. Do you think he's going to take no for an answer? What do you think will happen"

Raine didn't respond. He was married, he knew exactly when not to push it with a woman. That tone of voice said more than any words. She couldn't blame him for being careful, he reasoned, but she certainly was not going to thank him for it either.

"I've helped you," she continued, raising her voice further. "I've done a lot of things I wasn't supposed to do in order to help you, and now I am in trouble. So are you going to help me?"

"Fine," Raine conceded. When she put it like that he felt downright guilty almost. Typical woman. "You're in. Donny, Stiglitz, get back to the others. Now listen up and listen good…"

Donny and Stiglitz moved off accordingly, while Raine got down to explaining the details of the plan to Ellis. Donny couldn't help but look over his shoulder at them, wondering what exactly Raine was planning on. She was in, but was that a good thing? Was the plan going to change? Or would they have to break their necks in the middle of everything to get her out safely? He liked Ellis somewhat, but there was a job to be done, and he was not going to put that in jeopardy for her sake. Not when the German High Command was the prize at stake.

"You thinkin' this is a good idea?" he asked Stiglitz quietly, aware that they were near to the others now.

"I think it's an excellent idea," the German said with a smirk.

"Really?" Donny asked, a little surprised by Stiglitz surety.

"If Landa has other things on his mind it only makes our job easier," Stiglitz informed him. "Or should I say my job."

"Fair enough," Donny shrugged. He couldn't argue with that logic.

The others looked on as Raine continued his explanation to Ellis. She looked like she was concentrating as hard as she could on what he was saying. Wicki looked on particularly anxiously. Raine was telling her everything from the looks of it. Wicki had thought Raine might have told some basic details and then arranged to get her out of there as fast as he could, or told her not to be there at all. In incorporating her into the plan at this late stage without informing the other groups involved didn't seem wise, and she would be the first to admit she was no trained spy. He had a very bad feeling about this.

The it came, the moment he knew would come as she listened to Raine. Though none of them could hear what was being said, he noticed when she straightened up suddenly. She had just heard, or had just realised, something that she did not like at all. Raine continued talking while she just looked concerned now. She glanced up at Wicki briefly and unsmiling, before turning back to Raine again. He had met her gaze, also unsmiling. Now she knew what would go down, and she knew what would happen to him As a result she also knew that he had lied. When he had said 'maybe' to their future, it had been an empty promise. He knew she would find out one-way or another, but he still felt guilty.

Once Raine was finished talking , she merely nodded. She understood the plan, and that she was to cooperate fully. She would get as many details about where she was 'performing' and keep Landa and the Nazis as distracted as possible. If she started hearing gunshots, explosions or any other bad noises, she just had sing and smile harder. But now she was aware of the danger, and in particular what was going to happen to Stiglitz and Wicki, and she just didn't know how to feel about that. Wicki was probably going to die. She thanked Raine, who she sensed was all too aware that she was upset, and left without so much as a second glance at the others and especially not Wicki.

She moved very quickly down the alleyways and streets, no longer feeling cold or tired. Instead she almost felt frightened, her breathes short and shallow, and she wasn't sure why. Once she reached the main streets she began to run, not caring if she looked suspicious to anyone or attracted attention to herself. She just wanted to get back to apartment right now. She ran, slipping on cobblestones, and wheezing and coughing from exhaustion. Smoking and drinking were clearly not helping her athleticism. But despite all this she ran all the way, feeling progressively worse and worse. Getting to her building, she wrenched out her keys and got inside as fast as possible.

Once she got inside, she all but collapsed in an exhausted heap, leaning against a chair as she gulped in as much air as she could. Running had been a mistake, but she was glad to be home anyway. Now she was inside and safe from the outside world, her racing mind catching up with her as if it had followed her up the stairs. She felt sick and very alone all of a sudden. Very, very alone.

Of course it was all going to end like this, it always did. She had always said it herself. But she had been stupid enough to ask about a future, to let herself get so wrapped up in being with someone. The memory of last night and this morning now turned in her stomach and made her feel ill. Sitting down on the chair, she hugged her arms to herself tightly, trying to steady her racing heart and mind. At least she had been able to keep it together in front of them. She hadn't given away the secret at all. But his secret? How could he have not told her? He had said 'maybe', and she could hear his voice say it even now in her head.

Of course he had said maybe. Just like women, men could be very good at saying what you wanted to hear. Why would he have anything that might have upset her? They had shared some happy moments together, that was all she could ask for. Now she was involved in this so-called Operation Kino as well, she knew what to expect. The best she could do know was follow orders and keep completely professional, no more childish letters or sheepish glances. They were not teenagers and they had had their fun. It was time to grow up.

Standing up, she wiped the damp eyes which had managed not to cry fully, and gathered herself somewhat. She just needed to calm down and get back to the Bobino. She was already late and she could just imagine the sarcastic smile on some of their faces when she turned up looking exhausted. Looking at the table she noticed the milk jug was still there. Typical. Those men would come into her home and eat her food and yet none of them had even thought about putting the milk away again. Now it would be spoiled and it would be ages before she got some again. With an annoyed growl she slapped the jug off the table, losing her temper just as quickly as she had calmed down. The jug flew spectacularly high in the air, spilling the small remainder of milk all over the table and floor, and smashed into the wall. It broke into pieces, which littered everywhere.

_Shit._

Now she had milk and cheap porcelain to clean up. Just perfect. She would be even later than before. Getting on her knees to pick up the pieces, her eyes tried to cry again. But she refused to let them.

Miles away, and more than a few hours later, the Basterds were holed up in a small village, keeping just on the outskirts and out of sight.

Wicki took a very long drag of his cigarette. The day had warmed significantly since this morning, and he had managed to catch up a little on his sleep while they travelled away from the city. But he had still woken up preoccupied by Ellis' angry expression. She didn't seem upset, after all she was good at keeping up appearances, but that one brief glance had spoken a lot of hurt and disappointment. He had messed up with women before, what man hadn't? But he cared a lot about her, and more than likely she was the last person left on earth who might miss him. He was sorry. Well and truly sorry.

He got up and walked over to Donny, who was standing not far off and swinging his bat as if practicing. Whether he was practicing for skulls or baseballs, Wicki didn't know.

"Hey, Donny," he called to him as he walked over.

"Wicki?" Donny looked up, and stopped swinging his bat. "You okay?"

"Yeah, man," Wicki smiled. He wanted to come off as casual as possible. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. "I was just wondering if I could sign that bat of yours?"

"Seriously, dude?" Donny looked at him puzzled. "You want to sign it? Little late now. You're about to end the war."

"I know," Wicki shrugged nonchalantly. "But you're missing a name on there that I think you should really have."

"Okay," Donny nodded. More names just meant more motivation for him, and if Wicki was thinking about someone, then why not ease his troubled mind. He didn't have much time left as it was. "Knock yourself out."

He laughed. Knock yourself out. He hadn't meant to make a pun, but that was a good one.

Wicki took the bat from Donny, and took put his pocketknife. Then, after a moment's consideration, very carefully and very slowly he carved just one single name.

_Rachel._

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Ah, the benefits of being off college sick! I can completely indulge myself in writing this:) I completely intend to finish this and I have most of the plot written in my head already. We have some ups and downs ahead of us, let me just say;-P It's gonna be fun.

Thanks for the support and reviews, guys. I love writing this, and being creative is such a nice way to pass the time. So thank you for encouraging me to keep going!


	19. Non Merci

Chapter 19! I think I must have the longest IB here. That speaks volumes about my personal life, doesn't it? Don't worry, I do have a life. I have busy days filled with lots of work, and this is all done pretty much late at night when I don't want to sleep but still relax:)

Disclaimer: I don't own this. In fact, Quentin Tarantino owns me!

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Ellis eventually left her apartment, after cleaning the mess she had made. At this stage she was going to get an earful for being late, but she didn't really care, her mood couldn't get any worse. They were supposed to put the new stage curtain and rearrange the tables and chairs today on top of having to clean up as usual, so they would not appreciate her slacking off. Fresnay was a fair man, but he wouldn't want to listen to her reasons for being late this morning, after all, the less he knew the better. He always said that.

She did not hurry as she walked down the streets towards the Bobino. Having been here for months she was all too familiar with the area now, and could probably navigate it in her sleep if she needed to. She walked by all the shops, houses and cafés she passed everyday without so much as glancing up. Near the corner where she would finally turn to reach the Bobino was the café where she had gone that first day, and where the old woman had made a remark about her age. It was also where she had first met Wicki all those months ago. She really hated that place at the moment. She purposely glanced at the other side of the street as she passed, not even wanting to catch a glimpse of it.

Eventually she turned the corner and made her way up the street on which the Bobino was located. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't even notice the crowd which had sprung up outside the club or even why they were there. It was only when she had nearly reached the very front door of the building and had to push past more and more people did she realise that something was very, very wrong. Looking up as she pushed past the throng, she could see that most of the employees were sitting outside along the walls of another building. All around, and ensuring that the crowd kept at bay, were German soldiers. Seeing this she pushed even harder, forcing her way to the very front and towards her colleagues.

"Stop right there!" one German soldier shoved her backwards as she broke free from the onlookers. "Get back. This is a secured perimeter."

"I work here," she told him in German, realising that speaking his language could only help her in this instance. "I'm an employee."

He looked at her for a brief moment before finally nodding. "All right," he said. "But you have to wait outside with the rest of them."

She thanked him and hurried forward towards the others. There was none of the erstwhile glamour amongst the gathered employees. They had dressed for cleaning and moving furniture, not for entertaining. The usually beautiful dancers looked significantly plainer in their working clothes and without their make up. They were all either sitting down together on the ground in groups or standing up, arms folded and looking with concern at their beloved music hall building.

"Etienne!" Ellis called when she spotted him amongst the group. He was standing nearest the entrance with his brows knitted with worry. If anyone was going to know what was going on it would be him. "Etienne!" she called again, moving closer to him. This time he looked up.

"What's going on?" she asked him once she had finally gotten to where he was standing.

"I'm not sure," he said, the worry lines still visible on his forehead. "That man, Landa. He came back with all these soldiers and told us all to get out. But…" his voice became quieter. "Laurent is still inside with him."

Ellis froze. Landa was back. That could only mean that Röderer had been found, and he wasn't going to take anymore of this guessing game. He had to know she was involved, and now that another man was dead he had decided to come for her. Maybe that meant he wouldn't torment her by making her sing at that premiere like some puppet, he was just going to get rid of her now. But Fresnay was still inside and probably being interrogated by Landa at this very minute. Landa would make him talk, and tell him everything about Ellis. She wouldn't blame Fresnay for it though. After all, he had to think about Etienne and the others, and he had his own business with the Resistance to conceal. The foreign agent would have to go if necessary, in order to save everyone else.

Etienne's expression brought her back down to earth. He looked absolutely sick with worry, wringing his hands and constantly glancing at the door to the Bobino. Etienne, the sharp, witty and catty MC of Paris' most prestigious nightclub, now looked terrified. His face was nearly completely white. She felt so much sorrier for him at this moment. Although it wasn't really discussed for obvious reasons, everyone knew about Fresnay and him. They were opposites it seemed but they ran a tight ship, and they were obviously happy together. No one begrudged them that. Except, that is, for the Nazis, who would ignore their business prowess and discretion and simply call them perverts. Right now, the person who meant the most in the world to Etienne was in there with one of those Nazis. Her heart broke for him.

"It's okay," she tried to reassure him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Fresnay's smart. He'll manage to keep himself out of trouble."

Etienne didn't reply. He just kept staring at the door, as if trying to will it open. He just wanted them to come outside and stop tormenting everyone here. They had no idea why Landa was here with all these armed men, or what might happen next, and the waiting was killing all of them.

"Ellis," Etienne finally said to her, his eyes still fixed on the door. "If it comes down to it, I'll tell them everything. I won't even think twice about it."

"I know," she replied. "I understand." She did understand. Everything that was important to him hung in the balance, and he would not sacrifice it all to save her. Even if they sometimes did get along, she was the cause of too much trouble at this stage to be worth losing it all. It was nothing personal, it was just the way things had to be.

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Landa sat across from Fresnay, in the same office where they had spoken before only a few days ago. How quickly things could turn, it seemed. Neither man said anything, Fresnay sitting stoic and silent, trying to hide his anxiety with defiance. Landa on the other hand smiled contentedly across from him. He couldn't be happier. If there was one thing that he couldn't stand it was dishonesty, and punishing dishonest people like Monsieur Fresnay, or Miss de Vries was just so satisfying.

"Now, Monsieur," Landa finally said, happy that he had let Fresnay stew in the silence just long enough. "Do you have any idea why I am here again?"

"No," Fresnay replied flatly. He would give nothing away.

"Well, than let me tell you," Landa answered, still grinning. "Last night a man named Ronald Röderer went missing. And then this morning his body was found, just like all the other men who have gone missing."

"Was he anywhere near my establishment?" Fresnay interrupted him. He had been reassured that no more dead men would be connected with his club. "Because I don't recognise that name at all."

"No, in fact," Landa replied. "He was supposed to be at a bar on the other side of the river. Far away from your lovely establishment." He could have pointed out that he knew for a fact Ellis was at that bar, but he was going to leave that little detail out. The game was still on, after all.

"Then why are you here?" Fresnay asked sharply.

"Do you think I'm a fool, Monsieur?" Landa asked, dropping the smile.

"No fool," Fresnay retorted. "But I fail to see your logic in coming here when the murder happened elsewhere."

"But it is precisely that, Monsieur Fresnay, that leads me to your door."

Landa's vicious smile returned now. It was time to tell Fresnay all the facts, and watch as his impeccable logic broke down his confidence.

"You see," he began. "If the victim had come here and then been killed, than it could easily have been assumed that the people responsible were using your club as a means of selecting their targets."

"But," he stressed, his tone becoming much less friendly. "As soon as I appeared at your door, asking questions and conducting my investigations, all of a sudden the ties to your establishment were cut. The victim wasn't here at all. He was miles away. Convenient, isn't it?"

Fresnay didn't say anything. What could he say? Landa's argument was solid. They had been damned before this Röderer had even been killed. Landa had drawn up his conclusions and whatever move they may have made he would have still cornered them.

"So that leads me to conclude, Monsieur, that either you or one of your employees is directly involved in these crimes, or that you are in contact with people who are. Either way, Monsieur, you're hiding something. And as such you must be punished for it."

Fresnay's mind wandered to Ellis, after all, this was her fault. If she had just done as she had been instructed by her people to do and not decided to take matters into her own hands then none of this would have happened. But he had chosen to turn a blind eye. Maybe if he had known he could have stopped her in time, or at least talked out of it. If Landa and his men looked hard enough they would find the secret storage and then everyone would be killed. And however much Ellis didn't are about their safety, Fresnay had a high sense of honour and an even higher sense of responsibility to his employees. Many of them had had very little before he employed them, and he felt he had a duty of care to them.

"Your logic is flawless," Fresnay told Landa. "But I have a feeling you had made your conclusions long before this man died."

"A fair assumption," Landa nodded. " But in my view being a detective is equal parts deduction and anticipation. But I digress. I'm afraid this means that you are under arrest, Monsieur."

"You just assume I am the one responsible?"

"Of course," Landa sat back, looking amused at Fresnay. "As I said, anticipation is part of what I do. And as a result, I realised that even if you were not the one responsible, you would be too proud and loyal to tell me who was. You would play the martyr and sacrifice yourself."

"Another good assumption," Fresnay resigned himself to this now. He was not getting out of this, and he would not be intimidated into giving this Jerry bastard anything he was after. What would the point of working for the Resistance at all if he was just going to give in when the Nazi applied a little pressure. He was French, and as such, he would not let this man be prouder than he was.

"But, Monsieur," Landa asked him, sounding friendly, as if he was offering to buy him a drink. "If you have anything you would like to tell me, it would only stand you in good stead. Plus, you would be proving me wrong, which I think you would like."

Fresnay said nothing. He matched Landa's semi-benevolent gaze with a look of casual defiance. Landa had to hand it to him, he was certainly a proud Frenchman. Most men gave in somewhat, or at least could be made break down a bit. But not Fresnay, he was going to go down in style. Landa rather liked it actually. It made a refreshing change.

"No?" Landa said innocently. "Pity. But I do understand, Monsieur. On another note though, do you know what we do to people like you?"

"You line us and up and shoot us without trial," Fresnay replied, unwavering. "Or you give us a trial where we can't speak and then hang us."

"No, that's not what I meant at all," Landa laughed. "What a silly misunderstanding, no? I wasn't referring to people who work with the Resistance, or who conspire against our Reich. No, no I meant 'your people', as in sodomites. Perverts, for want of a better word."

Fresnay would not rise to this. Landa was just pushing buttons to either scare him or provoke him and he would not give him the satisfaction. Before this war it hadn't mattered what he was. Of course, you still had to be discreet, but no one had cared. In fact many people had embraced it rather than shunned it. It was a part of him, but it was not who he was.

"We don't give them trials or firing squads or nooses," Landa continued, his voice darker now. "We send them where we send all our undesirables. You've heard stories and rumours of such places I'm sure. Horror stories, no doubt. Well, you're about to find out for yourself."

Landa then stood up, fixing his jacket and making sure it was neat and straight. He knew only too well how important it was to keep up appearances. Fresnay stood up also casually. He was ready as well.

"Christoph," Landa addressed a soldier behind Fresnay. A man dutifully entered the room and stood behind Fresnay. "Please escort Monsieur Fresnay outside. He'll be coming with us."

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The door finally opened and all the employees outside straightened up to see what was happening. Fresnay was led outside by a much larger and meaner looking German. Etienne made to move forward but Ellis, knowing better, put her hand on his arm and stopped him. Landa stepped out after Fresnay and the guard, looking smug as usual. He was clearly happy with the result of the day.

This time when Etienne went to move forward Ellis came with him instead of stopping him. They moved together towards them, their expressions matching, serious and unsure.

"Etienne," Fresnay said to him once he had come close enough. His voice sounded business-like, as if this was just a minor inconvenience for him. "Make sure those curtains are hung and that the place is clean for tonight."

"Yes, Laurent," Etienne replied tentatively, Ellis could hear his voice cracking. "Will you be long?"

"Knowing these fucking Germans and their paperwork," Fresnay sneered. "You'll have to look after things for a while."

The German man pushed him forward and led him away before Etienne could reply. Ellis kept a hold of his arm tightly, her stomach tied in knots. She couldn't bear it. This was all her fault. Landa was trying to smoke her out and Fresnay would pay the price. He clearly hadn't said anything to put her in the line of fire, and he was going to suffer for it. Every fibre in her being wanted to leap forward and slap the smirk off Landa's face. But she knew that wasn't a good idea. Germans could be trigger-happy enough without provocation.

"Etienne," she whispered. "Go back to the others and tell them something. I will fix this."

"You better," he hissed. However guilty this woman might feel, it was nothing compared to his own personal pain. He felt like he could be sick. The Nazis were merciless, and his Laurent was now in their hands, all thanks to that tramp and her schemes. He could scarcely breathe, but he knew he had to remain calm. The others needed to believe everything would be okay, and the Germans could not suspect that anything was wrong with them. They had to look innocent. It was what Laurent wanted him to do. He moved off and back to the huddled employees of the Bobino, trying to calm them down.

"You can't do this," Ellis marched over to Landa. "He hasn't done anything. He's innocent."

"Miss de Vries, don't patronise me," Landa answered her in an offhand manner. "No one is innocent. Monsieur Fresnay, least of all. I could arrest anyone for anything if I so wished, but my choice is the good monsieur."

"He had nothing to do with this," she fumed, feeling so angry she could have cried.

"Nothing to do with what?" Landa teased. Oh, this was fun. She was squirming just like he had hoped she would.

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. If she gave herself away, she would be arrested as well. She wouldn't be able to go to the premiere and help the Basterds, and she would almost certainly be tortured into telling Landa everything about them. She had never been tortured, but she had a good idea that she wouldn't be able to handle it well. If she gave everything away then the plan would be ruined, and all the Basterds would be killed. She couldn't be responsible for preventing the end of the war. She felt so torn and so powerless. If she could she would give herself up and just die. Surely ending all of this would be worth it. Fresnay and the Basterds were good men who fought and made a difference, and whatever she did now they would be in danger. Landa had her hands well and truly tied.

"Don't be upset, Miss," Landa said soothingly. "It's not all bad news. I believe your friend Ronnie has already told you about the premiere."

She refused to reply, just glaring at him.

"I'll see you at the rehearsals, no doubt," he smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. She immediately shrugged it off, as though it was something distasteful. He didn't look offended, he just gave her another amused grin before walking towards his car and leaving. Once the Germans were gone, the onlookers began to disperse, gossiping amongst themselves.

Ellis began taking heavy, rough breaths. She felt dizzy, outraged, guilty and upset. There was no escaping the awfulness of the situation, for her or for anyone. Whichever way she looked there was nowhere to run, and all she wanted to do was run. Run like she had earlier this morning. She looked over to Etienne and the others, who looked back at her with a mixture of anger, disappointment and expectancy.

Her knees gave in and hit the ground hard, sending sharp pain shooting up her thighs. She roared in pain and frustration. And then she sobbed loudly, not caring if the whole world was watching. No one came to help her.

After a few minutes she looked up, staring down the road down which that Fresnay had just disappeared. Her heart was still pounding hard but she felt eerily calm. No more tears, no more feeling hopeless. She refused. She had a job to do, and now she was going to do it. And by God, Landa was going to suffer just as much as she did.

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Strange, I know to have a chapter rather focused on Fresnay, who for the most part been a secondary character. But I quite like his character and as such I'm promoting him a bit more. You'll understand why in the next chapter. It's gonna be a toughie to write but hopefully I can get it up soon,

Merci beaucoup pour votre soutien:) (Excuse me if that's wrong, I haven't done French in YEARS!)


	20. Liquid Under Film Noir

Hello all! First off, **This is chapter 20!!! YAY!** Sorry about the delay:( I really did mean to get two chapters done over the long weekend, but um... yeah, that didn't happen. On the bright side though, this chapter had a little bit of everyone, although admittedly not that much Landa. However we do have three new, though very familiar, characters introduced here:) I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: I own none of this, none of that, or any of those!

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Lt. Aldo Raine was only going to wait half an hour more before he and the Basterds were going to pack it in completely. This Lt. Archie Hicox was late, and not just a little late. He was a full hour late. It was not a good sign and he did not like it one bit. He had been led to believe that British people were prompt and polite, and being late was neither one of those things. Right now the Basterds were spread out and concealed as best possible amongst the trees in the woodland near Joinville-le-Pont. It was very dark and as time dragged past they were all feeling more and more anxious.

"Can we get out of here yet?" Zimmerman whispered loudly, looking visibly fed up with the whole situation.

"Shut up," Hirschberg hissed, digging his elbow into Zimmerman's ribs. They looked like kid brothers, hitting each other in a tantrum.

"If we don't meet the British agent none of this is going to go down," Utivich intoned quietly before Zimmerman could retaliate in earnest. "Wait till Raine decides what we do."

The settled down again, guns at the ready, waiting for the Brit to show up, if he ever did. Omar was itching for a cigarette, but at a stakeout situation that was a big no-no. One little light flickering in the darkness could cause a whole lot of trouble. He knew it, but he was seriously craving one right now. Ellis hadn't been able to get them more now that she was effectively out of a job. She had to keep her apartment for a little longer, and so had to budget herself a little better, meaning no ciggies for poor Americans. Looking around at the others he could see that they were all feeling it too.

They had been here for over a year, and most of them had been serving a lot longer than that. There came a time, and not necessarily when you were cold or tired, or even when you thought you were going to die, but there did come a time when all you could think of going home. You missed stupid things and you missed important things. You missed things you had, and things you didn't have. Although none of them would admit, too afraid to damage morale, they were also tired of hiding and running, and even of the fighting. They loved being Basterds, but it was time to think about being normal guys again.

But two of them probably wouldn't get that chance for that, and so none of them would admit to feeling that way. Talking about that stuff would just be rubbing their noses in it, wouldn't it? Keeping it in was the only way to go for now. When everything was said and done then they would think about their futures. Who knew, maybe even someday they would show photographs to kids and grandkids of their army days, and of the boys from their platoon. It seemed like a nice thought.

A rustling came from the edge of the clearing. Each man stiffened and straightened up automatically. Guns were raised, and just one clicked ominously, ready to fire.

"Jesus, Stiglitz," came Raine's irritated whisper. "Don't you dare."

A man entered the clearing, dressed as a French peasant, although his posture was too straight for him to pull it off. He looked casually around the space, not looking particularly anxious or worried at all. This was obviously the guy. Raine stepped out from his hiding place and into the view of the Englishman, the others followed his lead.

"Lieutenant Raine, I presume?" Hicox said, still looking as nonchalant as before. You would think that a group of men appearing out of the darkness would at least lead him to put his guard up.

"Lieutenant Hicox," Raine addressed him in return.

"And these must be the Basterds I've heard so much about," Hicox glanced around at each of the men standing around Raine.

"They sure are," Raine smirked. "Hope they been sayin' nice things about us."

"Your reputation precedes you," Hicox assured him.

"You're late," Donny said out of nowhere. He made sure his bat was visible as it hung over his shoulder, his gun in his other hand. This was their man and it didn't seem like they were in immediate danger, but he was the Bear Jew after all, and he wanted to get that across straight away.

"Apologies, chaps," Hicox replied, still looking nonplussed. "Damn Jerries saw the plane I was on, which led to the unfortunate business of hiding in a ditch for quite some time."

"Been there," Donny shrugged.

"But I digress," he continued. "Now I don't mean to impose, but have you another place we can discuss the matters at hand? Dark forest in the middle of the night seems a little ominous."

"My thoughts exactly," Raine agreed. "Let's get the Hell outta here."

Less than an hour later the group found themselves inside a disused farmhouse. It didn't look like it had been empty all that long, in fact there was still some food in the pantry and the odd chicken roaming around outside. Where the previous inhabitants were no one could say, and no one really wanted to think about it. Whatever may have happened it meant that the Basterds had somewhere warm and comfortable to stay for now. It was a little cramped with ten full-grown men, but it was still Heaven compared to what they were used to. They had found it two days ago and had decided to stay there. Usually they would only spend a day or two in one place, but Raine had thought it was for their own good if they stayed still for a while, especially if somewhere so comfortable was available to them.

"Now," Raine sat down at the kitchen table and invited Hicox to join him. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course," Hicox sat down across from him and folded his hands. "As you will already have been told, the premiere is in two days time. Tomorrow night we meet with our German agent in the village of Nadine. The tavern is called La Louisiane."

"And what do we know about this double agent?" Raine asked. "You even got his name?"

"Her name," Hicox corrected him. "Is Bridget von Hammersmark."

"What?" Wicki and Stiglitz said in unison. The others looked at them. What had they both found so strange about that? Who was Bridget von Hammersmark? Stiglitz's expression was one of amused scepticism, while Wicki just looked confused.

"That's right," Hicox answered them, sounding as if he found it strange as well. "The actress."

"She's an actress?" Omar asked. "Isn't that a little… recognisable?"

"The most famous actress in Germany," Wicki informed him. "Extremely recognisable."

"And as such, less suspicious," Hicox insisted. "Think about it. Privileged and frivolous, hardly double agent material. Who would have known?"

"Caught these two off guard anyway," Raine gestured toward Wicki and Stiglitz. "Seems like a good call."

"Precisely," Hicox replied. "The rendezvous is set for 22.00 hours, so it's not too early. Myself and the men you've selected will pose as friends of Fraulein von Hammersmark and she will give us the final details. One way or another she will get us into that premiere."

"And you're sure about all this?" Raine asked. He had been sceptical of having a German involved all along, but an actress? Sure, she'd be able to get them in, but they would hardly be able to blend in with her around, would they? Besides, the better the actress the less they could be sure of her.

"As sure as I can be," Hicox sighed. The situation was very precarious, and no one could be sure of anyone else's motivation, or whether or not they could trust them at all. It was taking a lot of faith on either side.

"Fortunately for us," Raine added. "We'll be able to fight female to female in this situation."

"What do you mean?" Hicox asked, looking suitably perplexed.

"We have another agent gettin' involved," Raine said flatly, knowing that it would not go down well with Hicox. "Dutch Resistance."

Ellis wasn't doing this as a member of the Resistance, but it would probably sound better if he made it sound like she was. He could tell from Hicox's face that he had not been expecting this, and he did not appreciate this new piece of information.

"A new agent?" Hicox said, not sounding so unflappable anymore. "You thought it would be good idea to add in another agent without informing the rest of the people involved?"

"Not so much a good idea," Raine stressed. "As a necessity."

"Well, who is this agent?" Hicox asked. "Can she be trusted? What do we know about her?"

"Ellis de Vries," he informed him. "She has been working with us for several months now and we believe we can trust her. The head of security at the premiere hired her as part of the music for the event, and so we felt that if she was gonna be there anyway…"

"The head of security?" Hicox repeated. "You would trust someone vetted by the head of security at a Nazi event?"

"This person, yes," Raine insisted. "Trust me, head of security is gonna be real preoccupied with this one. He ain't gonna be looking at what we're doin'."

"Have you cleared it with your superiors at least?" Hicox asked him, looking none too pleased.

"Nope."

"Do we have any other option?"

"Nope."

Hicox sighed. There was nothing else for it at this stage. Bloody Americans. Adding an agent who didn't need to be involved at this late stage was extremely foolish, especially one from an organisation who wasn't meant to be involved either. This was a British-American-German operation, and however much the Dutch might do in the fight against the Nazis, this was not their operation and they weren't supposed to be involved. And should they really trust someone who had been given a job by the head of security? This plan was not looking good.

"If it's any consolation," Raine interjected. "She was able to tell us that the venue had been changed to some place much smaller."

"It's no longer at the Ritz?" Hicox asked, puzzled by this new development.

"Nope," Raine replied again. "Seems Goebbels had a change of heart for some reason. Probably wantin' an element of surprise for safety."

"Fine," Hicox gave in at last. He had no other choice if the venue was different. All the intelligence they had gathered on the Ritz would be obsolete now. They would need someone who knew their way around this new building.

"Since there's no other choice. But this operation has to succeed at all costs, and if anyone, and I mean anyone, puts that in jeopardy…"

"Understood," Raine nodded. "We know how to deal with that sort of stuff."

"I'm glad we have an understanding."

Some further arrangements were made; where and when they would meet Ellis and where they would go from there. This Brit was all business and had pretty much thought of everything. Now it was just a case of seeing what this von Hammersmark had in store for them. The rest of the Basterds remained respectfully quiet, knowing that now was a time to keep their mouths shut. They had a tendency to get a little over-zealous when it came to planning of the deaths of Nazis, but this time things were a little more serious. There was a lot at stake now.

The biggest change in plan was what would occur once they were inside. They would have to pose as audience members before detonating the dynamite attached their ankles. It meant that they would die for sure, but it was the only way that they could ensure as many Nazis as possible died that night. They would be martyrs, sacrificing themselves to save everyone else. Although that didn't make the idea seem anymore appealing at all.

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So far this was Ellis' second rehearsal in the cinema venue where the premiere would take place. Originally Goebbels had wanted the sumptuous Ritz for it, but it seemed that his star, Frederick Zöller, had thrown some sort of hissy fit and demanded a more exclusive event. She felt awkward practicing in front a handful of German guards; all they did was stand there, unsmiling and unmoving. In the centre of the room other people would occasionally appear, usually designers and decorators making their last minute adjustments and arguing over the colour or placement of things. As she sang half-heartedly into the microphone she watched them all come and go, not paying the slightest bit of attention to her.

The good thing about these rehearsals was that it gave the chance to perform her other duties as well. In between practices she could wander around the building, making note of where everything was and where the exits were. If the Basterds and their allies were going to pull off an operation like this they were going to need to know where they were going. The small nature of the venue meant that it was easy for her to get to grips with the layout, but she still liked to make sure she had everything exact.

As soon as she had finished a handful of songs she heard one of the technicians start shouting about the placement of something on he stage. This was normal, everyone was on edge as the big night drew closer. Without having to be asked she stepped off the stage and began to walk away. They would be at least 15 minutes arguing about what was wrong and what should be done before they would actually do something, and so that gave her enough time to wander around and scope out the area again.

"Where are you going?" a guard asked her, not even bothering to be polite.

"The bathroom," she replied flatly. "And then for a walk. I really don't feel like listening to Germans and Frenchmen arguing about how things should be done for twenty minutes again."

The soldier didn't reply, he merely nodded and resumed his position. Ellis left the foyer area quickly, moving down the hallways that had grown almost familiar to her. She knew where she was going but she still wanted to get out of sight of all those Germans. The cinema was fairly modest in decoration, attractive and clean, but certainly no Ritz. Instead, Goebbels had 'borrowed' some artefacts from the Louvre and the Palace of Versailles and filled the whole building with them. It looked nice, but it still could cause a shudder to see so many precious treasures placed in more humble surroundings. These things weren't art to Goebbels, they were trinkets and baubles for decoration.

As she entered the auditorium of the cinema, where this monstrous propaganda film would be viewed, she spotted Landa across from her, standing behind the screen and discussing something with another man. He looked up as she entered and gave her a small wave, smiling and looking friendly just like he always did. The phrase 'the Devil may smile with an angel's face' certainly sprang to mind. She smiled and waved back politely, looking just as friendly as he did. She was going to play just as hard as he did, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was under her skin, even if he was. She would act in front of him just as she acted in front of any German. She would be the friendly young woman who never objected when someone bought her a drink, and who enjoyed the company of the rich and powerful Germans. The role she was born to play it seemed, even if did make her sick sometimes.

She walked quickly out of the auditorium, not wanting to linger too long where Landa also lingered. As she pushed out the door and into the hallway she bumped into another young woman, dressed in workman's clothes.

"Do you mind?" the young woman snapped. It was the owner of the cinema, a slight and stony-faced young woman who clearly did not love the intrusion on her cinema by all these Germans and their collaborators. She was sharp towards everyone working here now, and she made no secret to Ellis that she didn't like her. It was pretty rude and unaccommodating, but Ellis could understand her somewhat. Her cinema had been taken over by the Germans who had invaded her country, and to her Ellis was nothing more than a Nazi slut. Lots of people looked at her that way, even though they couldn't be further from the truth. If she was left alive and alone at the end of this war, she would be in a lot of danger.

"Excuse me," Ellis apologised automatically, walking off almost straight away, now a little flustered. She would just continue along her way again.

The young woman didn't even bother looking back after Ellis as she went down the hallway, she was merely another slut for the Germans, who didn't care about the pain and the suffering so long as she was able to keep living the high life. She entered the auditorium with two empty film reel canisters tucked under her arms.

Her name, for all intents and purposes, was Emmanuelle Mimieux, although that wasn't her real name at all. In a time long ago, when none of this had mattered, she had been Shoshanna. Shoshanna Dreyfus. She had grown up on a dairy farm with her family and had never even seen Paris before she was forced to run to it. Landa had taken her family, but he hadn't taken her and he sure as Hell wasn't going to.

She couldn't wait for the night of the premiere. She would watch as Landa and all his fellow Nazis and their whores burned in this auditorium just like they would burn in the next life. This place had been her home for so long now, thanks to the kindness of the previous owner, Ada Mimieux, but she would not hesitate in burning it to the ground if it meant that the Nazis would burn with it. She and Marcel, the only person on earth who she could trust and for whom she cared, had made their own special film for the Nazis to enjoy, and she counted the minutes until it had its own premiere that night.

"Ah, mademoiselle," Landa called to her, approaching her from across the room. "Getting excited for the big night, I trust."

"Very," she replied with a smile. She was looking forward to it more than he would ever know.

"It should be quite a night," he grinned at her. "Especially with our newly confirmed special guest."

"Special guest?" she asked, looking at him puzzled. Were Zöller, Goebbels, Bormann and Göring not special enough to the Nazis. Who else could possibly be coming who was more significant than them? "What special guest?"

"I'm afraid I can't say," Landa teased, looking visibly pleased with himself. "But needless to say, this is very special indeed."

And with that he moved off to attend to other matters, leaving her to wonder who the special guest might be. He certainly loved to tease, she thought. It didn't matter who this guest was though, if he or she was special to the Nazis than they would burn with them. It didn't matter who it was. But she had to admit she was curious.

Exiting the auditorium she handed the empty canisters to a handyman, ordering him to dispose of them, before heading back up to her office to catch up on her paperwork. Sure enough, as soon as she turned the corner to get to her offices, there was Frederick. He tried to appear innocent as he pretended to be fascinated by the rather boring floral painting directly across from her door. She sighed to herself. He did just not give up.

"Frederick," she said quietly, trying not to appear too rude. "I have a lot of work to do, so please, leave me to do it."

"Who said I was here for you?" he asked jokingly in response, grinning that grin which infuriated her most of the time. He gestured towards the less than wonderful artwork.

"Fine," she said flatly, before moving to open her office door. He stopped her before she could get in, standing in her way all of a sudden.

"But since I'm here," he continued, still smiling at her. "Perhaps we could catch up a little."

"We have seen each other most days this month," she replied, unsmiling. "We don't need to 'catch up'." He had already made sure he was here day in and day out whenever he could. He claimed to be making sure that everything ran smoothly for Herr Goebbels' premiere, but they both knew that that was a lie.

"It can't hurt though," he tried again. She really was playing hard to get, but he wasn't the kind of man who just gave up.

"I have work to do, Frederick," she repeated, trying to make him understand that she wanted him to leave her alone.

"All right," he gave in, still smiling sheepishly at her. "Now that you've got a premiere to run, you simply don't have time for the little people."

She didn't reply, and he moved out of her way, allowing her access to her office again. He began to walk off, not really dejected, but still feigning disappointment in order to appeal to her softer side, if such a soft side even existed. She watched him go. A thought suddenly hit her.

"Frederick," she called after him, just before he reached the stairs and went out of sight. He turned around and faced her, smiling again, this time a little more hopeful.

"Monsieur Landa is raving about a special guest," she said. "Who is it?"

Frederick grinned from ear to ear. This was really going to impress her…

Back in the foyer, Ellis waited to go back on stage. The men were still arguing about something or other and so she still had a while to wait. She didn't really mind, but it was terribly boring just waiting around. She felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Guess who?" came the voice from behind her. She turned around to see who was there, coming face to face with Ronnie.

"What are you doing here?" Ellis asked her, giving her a greeting hug. "Is your office job that easy?"

"Sometimes," Ronnie giggled in response. "But I came to talk to you about your French friend."

A week ago Ellis had gone to Ronnie and begged for any information she could get about Fresnay. She had been able to tell her that he was still alive and in Paris. He was holed up in a jail near the outskirts of the city and was awaiting deportation. Ellis had begged her to try and help him, to use her pull with Franken and the others to try and get him out, or at least to stop him from being sent to one of those hellish camps. Ellis would do everything she could to try and get him out. After all, it was her fault he was in trouble now. Unfortunately though, however popular Ronnie was, she wasn't able to advocate very much for a convicted criminal. His fate was sealed long before she could intervene, and she had been warned off pursuing the matter much farther.

"What is it?" Ellis asked her, anxiety written all over her face.

"I was told to stop poking my nose in other people's business," Ronnie told her sadly. "There's nothing I can do, I'm afraid."

Ellis bowed her head, ashamed and angry with herself for what she had gotten him into. He was a good man. A man who had helped her, and who had tried to help his country. Now God knows what would happen to him.

"But," Ronnie continued, making Ellis look back up at her. "I was very sweet to the warden of the prison and he is allowing you to visit Fresnay tomorrow before they send him off. I convinced him to let him write a few letters to his loved ones, don't ask me how, and you can take them once you visit him."

"I can't be the one to visit him," Ellis shook her head. She would be the last person on earth he would want to see. If anything it should be Etienne, or one of the longer serving employees of the Bobino. A friend, not her. "Can't another friend go?"

"No," Ronnie told her sadly. "The warden was very clear. You and only you. This is against all sorts of rules, Ellis. You're lucky I was able to convince him to do anything."

Ellis didn't reply, she just nodded.

Tomorrow she would go to the prison and see Fresnay. She would apologise as much as she could under the watchful eye of the prison guards. She would take whatever he gave her for the others and she would deliver it to whoever it was for. She owed him at least that much. Then she would meet the Basterds again, and begin the most important operation of her life. One way another, it was time to make things right again.

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Ah, its getting trickier and trickier to write these things! But don't worry, I'm still enjoying myself;-P I hope you liked the introduction of the newer characters, I know they didn't actually get to do very much, but this was only an introduction, things will start happening! I'm particularly pleased to have Hicox involved now. He's played by the lovely Irish actor Michael Fassbender, so I'm terribly biased in favour of him:) He's a great actor, and also appeared in one the best Guinness commercials ever (youtube it!).

But enough Fassbender love, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as you seem to like the previous ones. Thank you for reading and being supportive of me. We have miles to go yet, but the end is coming eventually. I just hope I make it worth sticking around for.


	21. Last Poem

Hey guys:) Sorry it took me so long to update, but it was the Halloween weekend and so I was pretty busy misbehaving and didn't get much sleeping or working done. Hopefully I'll have another chapter for you by Friday, if not then definitely Saturday. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was quite tough, but I'm proud of it and hope you understand what I intended with it. Its not too long this time anyway.

Disclaimer: I can't have everything I want...

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Fort Mont-Valérian prison had a long and unfortunate history in Paris. Before the Germans had come it had already been a military jail, housing draft dodgers, deserters and occasional political prisoners. Now the Nazis used it for their own political prisoners, and Laurent Fresnay was one of them. Stepping away from the crowds and heading down emptier streets, Ellis could feel the growing dread rising up her spine. Going into a Nazi prison, where they tortured, interrogated and murdered so many people was the last thing she wanted to do, but she still somehow managed to keep putting one foot in front of another.

Inside the prison wasn't much better, however intimidating it may have looked on the outside. An unwelcoming feeling hung all around the building, the walls and doors appearing cold and sinister as she walked down the hallways behind the guard. Soon enough she was brought into a room that was empty except for a single table in the middle of it, with two chairs flanking it on either side. She tried not to shiver as the same cold and uneasy feeling swept through her body once more. It was so sterile, and so unfriendly. She suddenly felt even guiltier for being the reason Fresnay was here. Her mind occasionally flashed back to the Basterds, and to Wicki of course, but she pushed those thoughts aside each time. This was not the time and place for such things.

Another German entered the room from a door on the other side; she could tell by his uniform that he ranked higher than the other one. This must be Berkel, she reasoned. Ronnie had told her that Paul Berkel was the prison warden and that he was putting himself in a very precarious position by allowing her to do this. She had been told that despite his rank and his position as prison warden, he was actually quite a kind and fair man. It was rare to hear anyone say that about a German these days. He seemed agitated and gave Ellis a cautious look. He walked over to her slowly, appearing uncertain of what he was doing.

"Herr Berkel," she addressed him, putting out her hand. She decided it would be best to show her appreciation for what he was allowing her to do. "Thank you so much."

"Please," he merely held up a hand, dismissing her gesture. She noticed that he fidgeted nervously. "You needn't thank me."

"I understand the seriousness of what you're allowing me to do, though," she continued, trying to figure out the nervous man and his strange behavior.

"It doesn't matter," he dismissed her again. "You won't be left on your own, of course. Your conversation will be observed and anything you are given will be checked by our guards."

"I understand," she nodded, before deciding to try and thank him again. "If there is anything I can do…"

"Fraulein," he stopped her again. She noticed how worn out and pale he was. "This is all highly irregular and I fully expect to have the Gestapo knocking down my door soon."

"And that's why I appreciate it so much, Herr Berkel," she insisted. "You've put yourself at great personal risk."

"It won't be pleasant," he told her. She instantly became quiet. "This is a goodbye. Tomorrow he will be sent away. You understand. Whatever I have allowed you to do, this is still your farewell."

"It's better than nothing," she shrugged.

She suddenly felt sorry for Berkel as well. He obviously didn't like this job, or found it in any way easy. From the looks of it he didn't get to sleep that much and he was constantly on edge. She recognized the look in his eyes. The resignation was there that so many German men had nowadays. However many Nazis there were at the top proclaiming that Germany would still win the war, and that their glorious Reich would reign a thousand year, most of the men, especially the common soldiers no longer believed it. So many now realized that they weren't going to win the war, and they would probably never get to go home either. Any of the compunctions or second thoughts they had pushed aside for so long now came back to haunt them. There was no hope for them. And however much she hated the Nazis and their cause, it was hard not to feel anything when she saw men like Berkel. The loss of hope was a terrible thing.

He merely nodded in response. He gestured towards the table in the centre of the room and she went to sit down on one of the chairs. Berkel then signaled to the guard to stand against the wall by the door, before he himself left the room, presumably to fetch Fresnay. She could feel her stomach was already in knots.

Minutes passed before finally the door opened again. She looked up immediately, her heart suddenly pounding at full speed. Fresnay was led in by two men, his hands and legs cuffed in chains, wearing dirty grey overalls, and holding a small package in his hands. He looked pale and gaunt, not quite like the same man she had known over the past months. The pride with which he had been arrested with was gone, and now instead he looked feeble and frightened. Yellowing bruises covered his arms and face, the remnants of a beating he must have received when he first arrived. Blood shot eyes glanced up at Ellis, before immediately looking back down at the ground, as if afraid of her. Her intentions for being tough and strong for his sake evaporated now, and she felt her eyes well up with heavy tears. The Germans led him further forward and sat him roughly in the chair opposite hers, before moving back towards the door, keeping a relatively respectful distance.

Several moments' silence passed between them. Fresnay had no will to speak, and she was at an absolute loss as what to say. What could she say? She had ruined everything, and taken away his business, his livelihood, and from the looks of it, now his life. Words failed to come to her.

"My letters…" Fresnay finally croaked to her, breaking their silence. "… Are for my lawyer, and for Etienne. The last one is for my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Ellis asked, the sinking feeling entering her stomach again. "I didn't know you had a daughter."

"Margaux," he informed her, his eyes staying low. "She lives in Nice with her husband, and I think they have a daughter as well. We haven't spoken in so long though."

"I'll make sure she gets it," Ellis promised. She tried not to think of what Margaux looked like, or what his grandchild might look like either. They were probably the only family he had.

"We were always butting heads," he attempted to smile meekly. "We both thought the other so foolish sometimes. But… I think she knows I have always cared about her above it all."

"Of course," she nodded. "Daughters will always give their father's grief. But they will always be daddy's girls."

"I think she knows…" he trailed off. He seemed very far away suddenly. The exhaustion and the isolation clearly affected him very badly. His eyes were unfocused and lips were cracked and dry. She moved her hand across the table and took his, bringing him back to reality again. He looked up this time.

"Is there anything else you want me to pass on?" Ellis asked him, making a point of looking him in the eye. He needed to remain focused and she needed to show him that she would do whatever it took to make some sort of amends. "To the others. To Etienne."

"I've informed my lawyer that Etienne is now the owner of the club," he replied, before clearing his throat painfully. "Lydia and Regina will have to help, of course. They must re-open as soon as possible. Tell the others…" He stopped suddenly again. She worried that he may have drifted off again, but she could see from his face that he was thinking carefully instead.

"Tell them I'm sorry," he continued finally, his voice still hoarse. "Tell them that everything will be all right, and that there will be no more trouble for any of them."

"All right," she agreed. She could feel her hand shake in his.

Even after being subjected to all this, Fresnay was still at heart the patriarch of his beloved employees. Everyone who had worked at the Bobino had nothing but respect and affection for him. Despite his often strict and tough approaches, he had been kind and fair. And even here in this god awful place, weakened and condemned he was still that same man. Any strength he had left inside was summoned up as consolation for the people he cared about.

"De Vries," he squeezed her hand to stop her shaking. "This is not your fault."

"Don't patronize me, please," she told him, sounding angrier than she had meant. Her frustration was palpable. "That isn't true."

"Fine," he conceded. "It's your fault. What are we going to do about it now?'

She didn't reply, she looked away, feeling as though she would cry again. They were both all too aware of the guards by the door listening in to their conversation. They could not speak too much of the details, but they both still clearly had a lot to say.

"Whoever is to blame," Fresnay went on. "There is nothing to be done about it now. It's pointless to wallow in self pity at such a time." He tightened his grip on her hand once more, and leaned in closer to her.

"Do what needs to be done."

"I'm so sorry," she tried to tell him, before he cut her off, much like Berkel had only minutes ago.

"And tell Etienne…" he continued, disregarding the last few moments of their conversation, turning back instead to the matters at hand. "…Tell him I have every faith in him. He will do a wonderful job."

"I doubt he'll want to talk to me," Ellis replied, shaking her head.

"He's proud," Fresnay shrugged slightly. "Don't give him an inch, I never did. Just make sure he knows I believe in him. More than anyone else, I have always believed in him."

"I'll make sure he knows. It will mean a lot to him."

"He means a lot to me. And for that it seems they want to be rid of me."

"It's just not fair…"

"This is a war," he reminded her softly. "Nothing is ever fair. I don't regret a thing. I never will. Love and evil don't co-exist, and so I have never done anything wrong."

Silence fell again between them. Once again she was at a loss as to what to say. She had come here determined to be strong and to put on a brave face for Fresnay's sake. But she had failed. Instead she felt as though she was falling to pieces, while he held it together bravely in the face of an uncertain future.

"What will you do now for work?" he asked her suddenly. Looking back at him now, she realized that he was not referring to her singing career.

"I've found a job," she replied, trying to be as subtle as she could, while still communicating her true meaning to him. "But I'm… not sure how it will work out."

"A good job?" he asked.

"The biggest I've ever had."

He merely nodded again, understanding what she meant. Although she could not divulge the nature of her new found employment, he knew that this certainly would be big. The past few months had seen her help take down several powerful and influential men, and this would be even bigger than that.

"Good luck," he told her simply. She smiled weakly in response.

"I'm nervous," she admitted. She dropped her gaze, a little ashamed to admit it. She would never have the courage or integrity of this man.

"I think you'll be all right," Fresnay smiled. He didn't judge her or blame her it seemed. The hard line and distance he had kept from her all this time had been for her protection as much as it had been for his. He couldn't protect anyone anymore, but he would do what he could. "You seem to have a talent for survival."

She sighed. In a strange way that seemed to be true. That night on the river when everyone had died, she had lived. When Müntze had been caught out, she had managed to avoid sharing his fate. And despite knowing that she was involved in murder and conspiracy, Landa had not sought to kill her yet. She did manage to survive somehow. Perhaps it was less a talent though, and more just stupid luck. That luck would run out soon too, she supposed.

"There is someone for you too, then?" Fresnay murmured quietly to her. She felt her cheeks flush slightly now. He wasn't sure why, but he always been able to recognize a heavy heart, especially in women. They seemed to struggle more with hiding it than men. Though she was here with him, her heart and mind was called away to someone else. She would always be preoccupied by other thoughts.

"Yes," she admitted. "There's even someone for me." She didn't want to think too much about Wicki now. In fact, she tried to avoid it as much as possible. There was an expiration date for this relationship she had found herself in. Tomorrow it would just be a memory, and so would he. Maybe her luck would run out too then? Then it would all be finished.

"It's nice to be in love," Fresnay's smile was genuine. Perhaps he wasn't even speaking to her anymore? Maybe he was thinking back on his own life. Still she choked back a sob in her throat, not allowing herself to unravel any further.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

A few more minutes and their time was up. She took the small parcel of letters from Fresnay and they both stood up when instructed. She had wanted to embrace him, to hold on to him tightly and to give him whatever warmth she could in this cold, lonely place. Tomorrow he would be gone. Gone to one of those Nazi encampments where they slaughter humans like cattle, and where he would see and experience untold horror. She was under no illusion. Fresnay would probably never survive it.

As he was led off once more, the tears ran uncontrollably down her face. She did not sob or struggle to breathe. No, she remained a little bit stronger than that thanks to the bravery she had seen in him. But her eyes were not so easy to control, and they poured and poured down. Clutching the parcel to her chest, she was led back down the hallway she had come through before, wiping tears away every few moments.

The search of the parcel, and of her person was intrusive and unpleasant. She understood that it was just their procedure and that it would have to be endured if she wanted to get out of here with those letters intact, but she sighed with relief when the German guard finally finished checking her clothes and frisking her. There was nothing to be found on her and so now she just had to get the letters out as she had promised.

The checking of the letters was far more thorough than the search carried out on her. Each envelope was opened and checked through, the letters held against light and beside a mirror to chock for any secret messages that might be concealed. One guard brushed some strange smelling liquid across each page, looking for a reaction. When none was found they proceeded to read through each letter, checking if anything was said in code. Herr Berkel re-entered the room whilst they did this, choosing to observe silently instead of inquiring too much.

One guard laughed as he read over the letter addressed to Margaux, amused by something he had read. Despite her better judgment, Ellis glared at him furiously. These were the last letters of a condemned man. A good and decent man, and he was _laughing._ How dare he? She felt like slapping that stupid grin off his face.

"Soldier, if you please," Berkel's voice came from nearby, warning the young soldier against taking this job so lightly. The young man immediately stopped and returned to looking over the letter carefully.

Soon it was deemed that there was nothing clandestine about the letters either, and they were returned to their envelopes and put back into the parcel. Berkel took the parcel and handed it to Ellis himself. He was not enjoying this situation as much as his soldiers seemed to be. There was nothing good to found within the walls of this prison, and he felt it more than ever now.

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the precious cargo she still had to bear. She was grateful that she had gotten to do this. Grateful to Ronnie, and grateful to Berkel as well.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled in response. From the weary look in his eyes she could tell he really did mean it.

Once she was outside, she hurried away from the prison as fast as she could possibly walk. There wasn't much time. In just four hours she would have to meet the Basterds and their British ally, but before that she would carry out Fresnay's wishes just like she had promised. And besides, she wanted to get as far away from that awful prison as she possibly could. It was only once she had reached a busy square, bustling with people, that she slowed her pace slightly. Her walk had to become more casual and less conspicuous. Once past all of the crowds though, and heading back towards Montparnasse, she ducked down an empty alleyway.

Now away from prying eyes, she opened up the parcel and took out the letter to Fresnay's daughter. It was wrong to do it, and she knew that. But hearing him talk about his daughter had reminded her so much of her own father. The man who despite disapproving of some of the things she did, and wishing that she had settled for a more respectable career, had been cheering in the front row of so many of her performances and who she had known loved her no matter what. Somewhere in Nice, Margaux Fresnay-Auteuil lived with her husband and daughter, unaware of what would happen to her father, a man not unlike Ellis' own.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she began to read the letter. Her stomach was in knots again, and she felt her eyes well up, despite being convinced that there could be no more tears left to cry. He had truly loved his daughter, and she could feel it in every sentence and phrase. The love, the guilt, the forgiveness, the understanding, the pain and the longing seeped from the pages and into her. No more so than when she read the final page of the letter, on which Fresnay summed up all his feelings for his estranged child:

_I have so fiercely dreamed of you_

_And walked so far and spoken of you so,_

_Loved a shade of you so hard_

_That now I've no more left of you._

_I'm left to be a shade among the shades_

_A hundred times more shade than shade_

_To be shade cast time and time again into your sun-transfigured life._

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Okay, I know you may think that this was a bit of a diversion from the story, but its a chapter that I've wanted to write for so long and there was no way I wasn't going to put it in. During WWII it wasn't just Jews that Hitler tried to destroy. There were many different groups of innocent people, and I wanted to try and tell the story of the suffering of a gay man as I think the persecution of homosexuals can often be forgotten in the grand scheme of things. No one deserves what the Nazis did to so many people, and I think its important we get to hear stories from the people that the Basterds are sticking up for. This chapter is my own insufficient way of paying tribute.

On a historical note, the poem at the end here (_Last poem_) is not my own creation. It is by the French poet **Robert Desnos**, who was a very active member of the French Resistance and who was captured by the Gestapo in 1944. He died of typhus amongst the survivors of Buchenwald, and it was a Polish student who found this poem and sent it to Desnos' wife. I came across this poem by accident and I thought it was so beautiful and appropriate that I just had to add it in. He was a member of the Resistance, and is now buried in Montparnasse where I've set a lot of the story, and so it was meant to be it seems. It moved me a lot and so I hope you like it.

I think that's enough author's notes for now. Next chapter won't have the Basterds, but it will have lots of Landa, as well as some other nasty Nazis. Then after that we'll have the Basterds back again:) Thank you for reading and reviewing, I hope you enjoy it:D


	22. Maybe Tomorrow is a Better Day?

Woo-hoo! Chapter 22:D I know I had originally said that I would upload on Friday, but I got carried away and managed to finish this last night instead. I can be rather diligent when I want to be. Hopefully I'll have another one on Friday then, to make up for my previous lateness. I hope you like it!!!

I own nothing, and no one seems to want to give me anything either...

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The theatre was bustling with people as the big night drew ever closer. Tomorrow it was show time, and if it was anything less than perfect Goebbels just might burn down the entire place with everyone in it, no one would put it passed him anyway. Not only was it the premiere of the most ambitious film he had ever commissioned, but now also it was the biggest Nazi event of the year, with the Führer himself attending. The pressure was on, nerves were frayed and heads were poised to roll. Landa watched as men and women practically ran back and forth from room to room, carrying various ornaments and objects. It was highly entertaining actually. He had often likened the German people to hawks, but right now, from the balcony ledge they seemed like worker ants. Darting about and busying themselves with whatever they could. Busy little worker ants.

His part in all of this was relatively simple in comparison. No riff raff were to be let in, the place had to be swarming with guards, every inch of the building had to be checked before and after they opened the doors, and the Führer was to have extra security surrounding him at all times. Rather basic stuff, if he was perfectly honest. It was all common sense, with no brainpower required at all really. They could have had any old sod do the job, and he could have been left free to do what he did best: uncovering the lies and punishing the liars. This could have been Franken's job instead. After all, he had managed to anticipate and foil a Resistance attack on the Führer's birthday celebrations back in Holland. He would have been perfect for the job. But no, Landa was the genius and they all knew it. Now his genius was being wasted on this stupid event.

But he was ever the optimist, and even this job had its advantages. And one of those advantages was of course Miss de Vries. Although the young lady was reasonably attractive, he wouldn't have touched that little slut with a barge pole. The only thing he wanted to know was the dirty little secret she was trying to conceal. Right now she was probably visiting the scapegoat Fresnay, tortured by the fact that she had led him to this. Filled with remorse, she would be weakened by the time she sang for them tomorrow. She would bolster herself to put on a good front and hide her frayed nerves, but as soon as he could get her alone he knew only too well that those nerves would shatter and she would give in. She had nearly cracked already when he had arrested Fresnay. But the right words said in the right way tomorrow night, with a suitable threatening undercurrent, would finally do the job. Her secret would be his, and maybe she could even lead him to her Basterd friends? How delightful!

But she wasn't the only young lady he had his eye on these days. No, not at all. The lovely proprietor of this humble cinema had also caught his eye. Emmanuelle Mimieux she called herself, but he knew that this probably wasn't strictly true. He had thought her familiar when they had crossed paths in that restaurant, but soon came to realise that it wasn't the first time they had crossed paths at all. So familiar to him… Could it be the one that got away some years ago? A dirty, bloodied teenage girl running for her life. He had no way of knowing for sure; he hadn't even seen her face properly that time. But his instincts rarely lied to him. They had met before. When she had looked upon him, he had recognised the expression she attempted to conceal. Terror. Sitting and smiling politely at him she had been terrified. He didn't make the connection at first, but then it came to him. People were frightened of him, and they were right to be. But terror would only come from someone who really knew what he was capable of. Someone who had seen it with their own eyes. If this was her, then fate was smiling upon him. The only one he had ever allowed to get away had come back to him.

_Oh, Shoshanna. How clever you are? Cleverer than the Dutch girl, that's certainly true. But you are so alike though, aren't you? Sirens both, luring them in for your wicked little games. You enchanted that fool Zöller so you could bring us all here and have some revenge, I suppose. Understandable. Especially from a conniving Jew. You were much shrewder than her anyway, but she still winning. Her six dead men to the living one you have. But you have a plan, no doubt. On the big night you will try and take your revenge, whatever way you can. You really believe it will work, don't you? Maybe I'll even feel sorry for you when the realisation finally hits you that it won't? When I take you aside before you even have the chance. But once those lights are down, I'm coming. There will be no running away this time._

_Au revoir, Shoshanna. _

"Standartenführer?" a voice interrupted his train of thought. He turned around, and smiled his usual genial smile, despite being irritated by the interruption.

"My apologies, Standartenführer," Franken said bashfully. He looked anxious. Something was definitely on his mind. He looked lie a naughty fat child trying to come up with a tale for his father.

"I didn't mean to disrupt you, but I received some… news this afternoon about the entertainment for tomorrow evening which… which worried me somewhat."

Ronnie had dropped Ellis' name in the conversation almost absentmindedly last night. She had been shrewd enough to know Ellis wasn't keen on Franken and he didn't like her much either, and so had kept him in the dark about her being there. After all, what could the harm be really? But as she got excited in planning her outfit for the premiere she had slipped. Just a passing mention while talking about clothes. After his initial shock he played it down, claiming to look forward to hearing Ellis sing again. But deep down he was reeling.

She had wormed her way into Müntze's affections almost a year ago now. Then while working there made sure that his best informant, Van Gein, was murdered by the Resistance. He was no fool; he could make connections just as well as any man and he knew that she was a liability. If she knew about Van Gein, then she knew about the Jews as well. She knew about the Jewish money that he had taken for his nest egg, and how if the Reich was to find out he would be finished. But she didn't know about his other informant, the man she trusted and who had told Franken everything. He had been smart enough to move his bounty before that sap Müntze burst in the door and accused him. Then he turned the tables, letting his commanding officer know all about Müntze's bargains with the Resistance in order to preserve the peace.

It had all gone so well. He was in the clear and his ambush awaited the Resistance downstairs in the cellar. Once her Resistance friends were dealt with she would be next. But the bitch had turned tail and run in the commotion, disappearing and remaining his biggest liability. However, when months passed he had begun to believe he was in the clear. Still no one suspected him and the money was still all his. He even got Müntze's old job, before being transferred to Paris. Things were looking up. But then last night that bimbo Ronnie had ruined all such illusions in an instant. Ellis was alive, and she was here in Paris. Here to destroy him, no doubt. And not only that, she was singing at the premiere with every important SS official imaginable. He was finished. There was no way he was going to let that happen. He had sent men to try and find her, but the club was closed and no one seemed willing to tell him where she was. These bloody peasants were growing more and more defiant thanks to that unfortunate business at Normandy.

"What's troubling you, Günther? " Landa asked, feigning concern. He knew about the suspicious past Ellis had in The Hague, in which Franken was obviously involved. Of course, Franken had skeletons in his closest and he was going to try and keep hidden.

"The singer," Franken began. "Ellis de Vries. I knew her back in Holland, and I believe she may not be the most trustworthy person to have at such a glorious triumph for our Reich."

"Now, Günther," Landa replied soothingly, knowing that it would only aggravate Franken further. "I know all about that unfortunate business with Haupsturmführer Müntze. But the Fraulein had explained her position and assured me that there was nothing to worry about."

It would be fun to toy with Franken as well. The man was a blundering fool, and an obnoxious one at that. If there was a shameful little secret to be had about him as well, all the better. It looked like tomorrow would shape up to be a rather interesting and profitable night after all.

"With respect, Standartenführer," Franken tried to insist. "I believe that she may have links with resistance groups. As a matter of fact I…"

"Don't worry about a single thing," Landa dismissed him coolly. "I can personally vouch for the young lady myself. Although I do appreciate your concerns, I must insist that you leave such matters to my discretion."

"But…"

"Good day, Günther," Landa walked away from the balcony, leaving a bewildered and obviously anxious Franken open-mouthed. He grinned to himself as he walked onwards, feeling rightly pleased with himself. How terrible it must be to be so average, like Franken or Miss de Vries or even dear Shoshanna? No matter how hard they tried or how solid they believed their plans were, they would never get it passed him. He was exceptional. He always had been, and he always would be. And that was the reason that he would survive the end of this Reich and this war. He always came out on top.

Franken couldn't believe how Landa had reacted at all. Was the most infamous and ingenious detective in all the Reich really this foolish? Even if she was an innocent in the events that took place in Holland, she still shouldn't be within ten miles of this event. That crafty whore. He had never thought she would have been able to charm her way around Landa. It would be up to him now to make sure she did not break her silence. He couldn't kill her before she sang. Landa would suspect him immediately and then he would be finished anyway. No, he couldn't kill her before tomorrow night. But once she had performed her duties everyone would file into the auditorium and be preoccupied, then it would be easy to dispose of her without raising much suspicion.

That would have to be the plan. He would silence her before she got the chance to so much as say a word.

Meanwhile in her office, and away from the prying eyes of the Germans, Shoshanna, or rather Emmanuelle, looked down at the film reel canister lying on her desk. This was it. The finished and complete film right before her, spliced in with the long awaited _Stolz der Nation_. And tomorrow night, while the Nazis enjoyed their awful film, she would switch to this final reel and give them the biggest twist ending in cinema history.

There was no stopping her now. This was actually going to happen. No more planning and preparing, just waiting. Tomorrow was the night she had been waiting for. Perhaps she had been born for this? Hitler and the Nazis were the greatest evil known to mankind. They had to be stopped. There was no longer any question of a peaceful resolution, or of negotiating. The only way to stop this evil was to wipe it out completely. Hitler's appearance was still a secret however, most Germans didn't even know it yet, but she knew and it had changed everything. This was no longer about killing Germans to avenge the Jews, or of killing Landa to avenge her family. Now it was destiny. Who knew if she and Marcel would succeed or not, all they could do was try.

How strange that history could fall into someone's hands like this. She had been a girl from a dairy farm, who had aspired no further than to get married and have her own family and farm someday. Now she was a hardened soul contemplating death and destiny. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine having a task so important, or so significant, ahead of her. She wouldn't live to have a family or a farm or even to see what happened next, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the film contained in the canister before her.

How did she feel? Not great, she supposed. She was going to die and she was going to kill a lot of people in the process. Even her sweet Marcel would most likely be killed in the action. For that she was sorry. He was the kindest man she had ever known, a gentle soul with a quiet dignity. After her family had died, she had believed her heart broken beyond repair. Just a dead thing hanging about in her bosom. There was no hope, and nothing good to live for. But then she had met Marcel. In meeting him she had learned that there was good left in such a dark time, good people amongst the wicked. When everything was lost he had helped her hope again. And for that she loved him, and she always would. He was the best thing she had left in life. He shouldn't have had to share this fate, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

For her life, and for those of her unsuspecting victims on the other hand, she felt nothing. It was odd, but fear and compunction seemed superficial now. There was a job that needed to be done and price to pay for ending the war. She was ready for this.

Miles away from the cinema, across the Seine, Ellis walked into the closed Bobino music hall. It was empty, and the tables and floors were still dirty, overlooked for a cleaning after the arrest of the owner. The whole place smelled of wine still, and the new stage curtains were folded on one side of the side. No one saw the point of new curtains anymore it seemed. It had been such a vibrant place and one of the classiest nightclubs in all of Paris, but now it just seemed like another run down, cheap bar. Dark and silent. All the life was gone from it, just another life stolen by Landa.

She left the bar area and travelled down the hallway towards what was once Fresnay's office, still clutching the parcel of letters to her chest. No light was in the hallway and she walked cautiously through the near darkness, heading towards her destination. The silence was funereal. The shadows all around reminded her of Fresnay's letter once more, and it echoed in her mind.

_I'm left to be a shade among the shades…_

A light was on in the office, but there was still no sound of life to be heard. She finally reached the door and gingerly turned the handle. Pushing it open, she saw that Etienne and Lydia were inside, sitting on either side of the desk in utter silence. There papers on the desk, a sign of work that still had to be done, and a half empty bottle of red wine also. Lydia looked up but said nothing as Ellis entered, while Etienne remained oblivious, his mind far away. They both looked exhausted, and Lydia's eyes were red and puffy from crying that had only stopped some time ago.

She had been the choreographer for the Bobino, a tall and thin middle-aged woman who could still elicit a wolf-whistle from men on occasion. Backstage the girls had often entertained themselves with the rumour that she had once been in line to be the next prima ballerina in an opera company, but had been thrown out after it was discovered she was sleeping not only with the main choreographer of the company, but also the manager. Whether it was true or not was anyone's guess, but she certainly had the carriage of a professional ballerina. Upright and dignified posture at all times, and a way of walking so lightly that you often didn't know she was behind you. Ellis had always like her. She took no nonsense and made no compromises, even for Germans. That took some courage.

"Ellis?" she asked once the door was shut. "What are you doing here?'

"I've just been to visit Monsieur Fresnay," she replied after some hesitation. Lydia stiffened automatically, and Etienne suddenly looked up eagerly.

"And?" he egged her on to continue.

"He's being sent away tomorrow," she answered sadly. More than anything she wanted to give them the good news that they wanted, an so richly deserved. Immediately they both looked so deflated. Etienne's eagerness crushed in an instant.

"But he gave me these letters to deliver," she continued, handing the parcel to Etienne. His hands shook as he took it from her. "They're for his lawyer, and daughter. And there's one for you, Etienne."

"I'll see to them," he nodded dejectedly. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Have a glass," Lydia offered to Ellis, gesturing towards the wine bottle. "You probably need it right now."

Ellis just nodded in return and sat down alongside Lydia. In one swift movement Lydia had taken and opened the bottle, before pouring into three cups that substituted for the lack of actual wine glasses. They each took one in had, and raised them up, as if out of habit. After all, wine was only half as good without something to drink to.

"For France," Lydia offered.

"For Laurent," Ellis decided instead.

"For me," Etienne vetoed them both. "I fucking deserve it."

Both women smiled slightly at this. It was so like Etienne. He hated sentimentality, and especially patriotism. He was weary and sad, but he was still the same man he always was, though embittered and disillusioned by now. They all took a drink, and sat for several minutes in more silence. He made no attempt to look at any of the letters, Ellis guessed he would probably do so later on when he was alone. He didn't look like he had the strength for it right now.

"The Resistance has been informed of a plot to attack the Jerries premiere tomorrow night," he finally informed Ellis, breaking the sad stillness. His voice was devoid of any feeling now. "The Allies are going after them, and it's been decided that our people will mobilise against the headquarters and checkpoints at the same time. Really fuck up the Germans. All their concentration will be on the premiere."

"Are you in?" Lydia asked her. She hadn't been aware that Lydia had known about the Resistance efforts of Fresnay and Etienne, but she supposed it made sense. Lydia was a cool and calming presence, and she certainly did not crack under pressure. And she as loyal until the last. She was ideal for the Resistance actually.

"I can't," she replied sadly. "I'm at the premiere."

She hadn't informed them that she would be singing at the premiere. Any sign of favour from Landa could have marked her as a traitor. Etienne already resented and blamed her enough, anything further and he just may blow her cover, or even get her himself. She wouldn't blame him if he did.

"You better shoot that son of a bitch in the head," Etienne hissed. He hadn't said the name, but Ellis knew exactly who he meant.

"That's the idea," she shrugged. Who knew if the would even get that far? Even if Wicki and Stiglitz did manage to pull it off, Landa would have already probably dealt with her. It was going to be her curtain call one way or another.

More silence fell. Everyone knew that tomorrow was going to be the most important day of their lives. But beyond that, who knew? No one wanted to admit it, but it was a frightening prospect. How had things gotten so dire that the future was impossible to even imagine? This war had cost so much that it didn't feel like anything would ever be right again. How could anything go back to the way it was? Ordinary people were looking at taking on an army and an empire tomorrow. It wasn't the soldiers, it was the people who had never wielded guns or knives or explosives that it fell to now.

"I should go," Ellis said, getting up. She had to begin heading towards Nadine in order to meet the Basterds and the British operative. She shuddered at the prospect now. "Thank you so much… for everything."

"I think this is goodbye, then," Lydia stood up and embraced her. She planted a delicate kiss on each of Ellis' cheeks, and gave her an appreciative look. She smiled at her, and Ellis' smiled back despite herself. It was goodbye, but they had had a very good run. Behind all the secrets, lies and the troubles, there had been happy times, and funny moments. She really was grateful for those. She didn't expect Etienne to be the same as Lydia. But he would keep her secret safe, and for that she would be forever grateful.

"Ellis, wait," Etienne's voice stopped her before she opened the door again. She turned around to face him.

"There is something here for you," he told her, as if feeling guilty for not having mentioned it sooner. "It came from your people in Holland. I don't know why."

He handed her a small black book. She took it in her hands and looked at it carefully. She recognised it. It belonged to the notary who had helped her family, and later on the Resistance, Mr Smaal. She could remember he took note of everything in the book, even things she thought were strange to keep note of. Why had it been sent to her?

"Thank you," she looked back up at Etienne. This time she really saw the weariness in his young face. Worry lines seemed permanently etched on his brow and there were dark circles under his eyes. She felt the same pain she had felt in the prison with Fresnay again.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, knowing that nothing she could say or do would repair the damage or bring comfort to his hurting.

"Goodbye, Ellis," he replied quietly.

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Voila! yet another chapter under my belt, and I'm rather pleased with this one. I don't know why, but it came out a lot more naturally than some previous chapters, a bit like the good old days when i first began writing this. In any case I'm happy bunny:) I know the story can be a bit heavy, the subject matter is dark and things can get a bit bleak sometimes, but I hope that you don't find this too heavy-handed. It was dark times, what can i say? Also, i hope that I'm not dealing with too many characters for you. That can be confusing, but I am melding two films together. Let me know if its all a bit hard to keep track of.

Thanks for reading and for being so loyal and good. You're darlings, all!


	23. It's definitely all his fault

Okey-dokey, here we have it! Chapter 23 pour vous:) We are getting dangerously close to some very big things, so please be patient with me, big things require a lot of time and effort to get right, and I want to get it right.

As we all know, I don't own it. If we haven't already established that, then there you have it.

* * *

Bridget von Hammersmark, the darling of German cinema and the most talked about woman in Berlin, walked into the tiny bar with her usual flair, dressed to the nines and strutting straight up to the bar. The whole tavern was empty, except for the barman, Eric, and one barmaid. She had known that it would be, after all this was a tiny tavern in a small town, hardly the place to be on a Thursday evening. It was a perfect place to meet her 'old friends'.

"Eric," she chimed at the barman, flashing the trademark smile she had built a career on "You know exactly what I need."

"One champagne, coming up," Eric smiled, popping open a bottle of the most expensive bubbly he had. She was probably the only person who could afford it these days, and so every time she came in he lightened up little. The lady had expensive taste and that was exactly why he was her biggest fan.

"Quiet night, Eric darling?" she remarked casually. "Just little old me."

"They're all quiet nights," he snorted, placing the champagne glass in front of her.

"Ah, but that's how I like it," she quipped. "No one bothers me at all. I don't have to worry about being fascinating. I can just be my boring self."

"Being Bridget von Hammersmark can hardly boring," he flattered her. Her big tips paid for all the sweet talk a woman could want. He had always found that the better a woman felt about herself, the more generous she was inclined to be. "But you're wrong about one thing. You're not alone."

"Oh?" she asked. That wasn't good. Any additional person there would jeopardise the entire operation.

"There's a gentleman in the smoking room," he informed her, wiping another glass with his rag. "He's just in for a quiet drink though. He shouldn't bother you. He only asked that Mathilda here be the only one to serve him. I think one pretty girl should be enough for him."

She nodded casually. She didn't like it, but it was just one man after all. He was probably just some old French wino anyway. He wouldn't be paying attention to them, he would be too busy trying to grope the barmaid. It wasn't ideal but it would have to do.

As she sipped her champagne, she was able to hide her anxiety somewhat. The three men she was to meet would arrive at exactly ten o'clock, dressed as a two Haupsturmführers and an Obergruppenführer. They would sit and she would discuss all the details of the plan with them. Once everything had been clarified, she would then take them to be fitted for their suits and give them the tickets. All they had to do was not blow their cover and everything would be fine. Now that the Führer would be attending the stakes had been raised through the roof. Failure was not an option.

Perhaps someone might be perplexed as to why the most famous actress in all of Germany would become an Allied spy, or even get involved in politics at all. It didn't matter what people thought. She had her reasons. She wasn't just a pretty face who wanted to land on the right side when everything fell apart for Hitler. And she was a whole lot smarter than people gave her credit for. She had never agreed with the Nazis, not even when Hitler was doing a good job. In fact she had met the man himself back in 1936, when she was enjoying her first flushes of fame, and she had found him creepy and unsettling even then. It had only been a brief hello at a function, but there was something very angry and dissatisfied brewing and festering under the surface. And that had been early on. Now she really knew the extent of his rotten soul. Rotten, that was the only way to describe it. The pain and suffering of this war had gone on too long, and it had gone too far.

Her quiet drink was then interrupted by a sudden eruption of voices from above. She looked over in surprise. Coming down the stairs was a group of rowdy German soldiers, low ranking it seemed, and already drunk. The stumbled down the narrow stairs one by one and piled over to a table in the corner of the establishment.

"Barman!" one of the men roared, while his friends giggled at his loudness. "Barman., we need…" he tried to collect himself to finish his sentence coherently.

"…We need more wine!"

"And beer!" called out another.

"No, no, gin!" shouted the stocky woman amongst them.

"Hang on! I'm in charge!" bellowed another young man, this one particularly blond and grinning from ear to ear. "We want whiskey!"

His companions cheered in unison, banging on the table, hooting and whistling. They were clearly in high spirits. They hadn't even noticed the brightest star of stage and screen was also with them. Eric the barman called Mathilda to help him get the order in, grumbling something about manners, or the lack thereof.

"Oh my God!" one of loudmouths exclaimed suddenly. "Its… its … Oh my God!"

"Bridget von Hammersmark!" another one gasped. They all looked up at once, stunned at seeing such a glamorous woman in such humble surroundings. The one who had shouted in the first place now stumbled over to her now.

"Frau von Hammersmark," he slurred, trying to sound as polite as was possible. "I'm so very sorry, b-b-but my friend here, Wilhelm. He has… his wife has just had a baby. He has a son!"

More cheers erupted from the table. The young blond one who had taken charge earlier, grinned even more. She could see his eyes water from where she was sitting. She felt sorry for him suddenly. His wife and new child were miles away, while he was stuck here in a hellish warzone. He was so far away from everything that was important. If she was in his shoes, all she would be able to think about was going home.

"Would you please join us?" the man who had approached her asked. "J-j-just for a minute. It would mean so much…"

"Of course," she beamed. As an actress she knew the most important thing was to keep the act up, no matter what. "I would be delighted to."

As she followed him back to the table, still grinning and soaking up the cheers of her audience, she made sure no one saw it when she muttered one word.

"Fuck."

* * *

"Lieutenant Archie Hicox," he introduced himself to Ellis. She shook his hand in return. He clearly was not happy about this new development in the plan, but right now in front of the rest of the Basterds he would be polite and civil despite it. His accent was almost as strange to her as Aldo's, fast flowing and so smooth that the words practically blended into each other.

"I trust you've been briefed on Operation Kino?" he asked her.

"Everything I need to know," she shrugged. "You'll be at the premiere, and when the lights go down you start shooting."

"Well, there's that," he replied. "And then once we've caused enough chaos we will then detonate the dynamite and go down with the ship."

"Down with the ship?" she remarked. "Of course." As if this mission wasn't suicidal enough, they really wanted to make sure they didn't make it out of there. She rolled her eyes, something Hicox found rather surprising.

"Are we done here?" she asked brusquely. She was tired, really tired. She didn't feel like dealing with plots anymore. After the day's events, she was spent in every sense.

"Not quite, miss de Vries," he answered her, perplexed by her strange behaviour. In his experience, women involved in such operations were usually cold and detached, but this was downright blasé. "We still have to meet our German contact tonight in the tavern. You should accompany us to discuss the layout of the venue and to get whatever details we're given."

"No chance," she stopped him flatly. "I'm not going down into that basement. Tell me when you get back."

"She's got a point there, Archie," Raine interrupted. "Less people we got down there the better."

"If she's going to be involved, she has to be fully involved." Hicox insisted, before turning back to Ellis and fixing her with a determined look. "We go over in an hour."

"Fine," she replied, not bothering to hide her irritation. "You're the boss."

She walked out of the room and into the hallway, fed up and wanting to be by herself. She walked up a flight of stairs and into the loft of the abandoned building they were hiding out in. Finding a stack of crates in one of the corners, she sat down and pulled the hair back from her face, closed her eyes and sighed.

Downstairs Hicox was still not sure what to make of their new cohort, and the Basterds certainly didn't seem impressed by something. The woman obviously knew what she was doing, after all she had been in France for months and had managed to do a pretty good job here from the looks of it. That aside, she didn't seem up for this somehow. Not that it mattered how any of them felt about this situation, but nothing was allowed to compromise their mission.

"You're absolutely sure about Miss de Vries?" he asked Raine. The whole group seemed too quiet for their own good.

"More sure o' her than we are o' you," Raine commented bluntly.

"She seems a little bit…" he wanted to phrase this tactfully. "… Unstable."

"She's fine," came Wicki's voice from behind him. He didn't sound very happy. He moved out into the hallway and up the stairs as well.

"Attaboy, Wicki," Raine called after him. "Go tell her to calm down and get her shit together."

The idiot wasn't even bothering to be subtle anymore, but Raine supposed it didn't matter. He would try and keep up appearances at least. For everyone's sake. The people involved in Operation Kino had 24 hours left. Tops. He wasn't going to give anyone a hard time anymore. The others thought that Wicki's storming off was strange, but they didn't reckon it was anything suspicious. Or did they?

Stiglitz paid no attention to what was going on all around him. He stayed seated away from the others, dressed in his Nazi finest, sharpening his knife. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't need to use it. But to be perfectly honest, he wouldn't mind using it anyway. He had always been a rather patient man, never minding having to bide his time when the pay off was coming. But it had been a while, and tomorrow was so close it was teasing him. So tantalisingly close. He could get over dying himself by picturing the results of his sacrifice. Killing hundreds of deserving Nazis? That sort of prize was always going to cost more.

He didn't notice the silence that fell in the room after a minute or so. It was only punctuated by Raine's repeated complaints about Frau von Hammersmark's choice of meeting place, and Donny continuously making smart comments. He didn't notice it even when Lt. Hicox approached him.

"I hear you're pretty good with that?" Hicox said to him, regarding the very large knife Stiglitz was sharpening with utmost care. He chose not to respond. Hicox wasn't getting along with the Americans, so now he was trying to pass the time in talking with the German. Clearly no one had told him that he wasn't the 'conversational' type.

"You know," Hicox continued regardless. "We're not looking for trouble right now. We're simply making contact with our agent. Should be uneventful. However, on the off chance I'm wrong, and things prove eventful. I need to know we can all remain calm."

If Hicox was perfectly honest with himself, he was starting to feel very anxious about this mission. The Dutch woman was being temperamental, the Americans resented being told what to do by a limey, and this German looked like a complete and utter psychopath. Not to mention, their agent was getting them to meet in a basement, in which they would most certainly be trapped in anything went wrong. He had a very, very bad feeling about this whole thing.

Stiglitz was amused by Hicox's concern. He looked up slowly and unsmiling, knowing that this would only further agitate the man.

"I don't look calm to you?"

* * *

Wicki opened the door to the loft slowly and peered in. Ellis was sitting in the corner, still looking annoyed, not even bothering to acknowledge when he entered. He walked over to her slowly, trying not to appear too apprehensive. She had been avoiding him, understandably upset and angry with him. Whenever she had met up with the Basterds since becoming involved in the Operation, and even when she had come in tonight, she had been strictly business. There was none of their furtive glances or even so much as a smile. It had been just like when she had first begun working with them. No personal feeling for anyone, not even the likable Omar. Wicki knew he was partly to blame.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," she replied flatly, not wanting to look over at him. She knew she was being stupid, but she was stubborn as well.

"You're angry," he said, moving over and sitting alongside her. She made no effort to reply.

"You're angry with me," he sighed.

"I'm not angry with you," she informed him, trying not to lose her grip completely. "I'm tired and fed up. That's all. It hasn't been a good day."

"Well, you should be angry with me," he quipped. "I led you on, when all I was going to do was let you down."

"You're a man," she nearly smirked. "That's what men do anyway. You wouldn't need explosives to help you there."

"True," he shrugged. "That doesn't mean you don't deserve better."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, aware that she might not appreciate it, but deciding he wanted to do it anyway. She didn't resist, but she still didn't look at him.

"I don't," she sighed. She leaned her head down upon his shoulder, and entwined her fingers with the fingers of his free hand. She couldn't be angry with him. She couldn't blame him for not telling her about Operation Kino. He had a duty to perform and secrecy was paramount. And even though he was sacrificing his life, there was a greater good at stake, and to put an admittedly shaky relationship before that would be selfish. She wasn't angry with him. She was angry with herself.

"Besides," she continued. "Tomorrow we're all going to die anyway."

"You don't have to," Wicki insisted, tightening his grip on her hand. "Just do your bit and get out."

She was so resigned to this and he hated it. If she was smart she would just get out as soon as she could instead of being so foolish. Raine wanted her to preoccupy the head of security, but once they were inside and kept a low profile he shouldn't be a problem. If she knew what was good for her, she would just run out as soon as she could. He would personally ensure that Landa was taken care of if needs be. They all were putting so much on the line that at least one of them deserved a chance of getting out of there. He thought she deserved the chance to see a world beyond the war, to rebuild her life and be happy. Most of them deserved that, he supposed. But he wanted it most of all for her.

"You're not the only one with a job to do," she informed him. "I do my part, you do yours."

"You don't have to do it," he tried again.

"Easy, soldier," she teased. "Nothing for it now."

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, hands still entwined and her head on his shoulder. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but neither one of them felt particularly at ease either. There was more to be said, but neither of them wanted to say anything. It was just nice to be quiet and alone.

"We have to go in a few minutes," she broke the silence, realising that they had been there for quite some time now. Wicki just nodded.

"How will we explain being alone for so long up here?" she asked him, smiling slightly.

"Tell them we had sex," he suggested, smiling as well. "That will shut them up."

"All right," she laughed. "Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah, it does actually," he agreed, grinning. "Why didn't we?"

"You were trying to be nice," she reminded him. "And you forgot to try it on as well."

This was the Wicki she liked to see; smiling and making witty remarks. Just like he had been that night. Just like they both had been actually. By now that night felt like it had been a thousand years ago.

They both laughed now as they stood up together, making ready to go downstairs again. What did it matter if anyone suspected them now? They would both probably be killed tomorrow anyway, so who cared? They would be dying to destroy Hitler's evil Reich after all, who could possibly resent them for this? Before Ellis could move though, Wicki caught her again and stopped. He pulled her in close.

"Before we leave, though," he said, as she embraced him in return. "I have to ask you something, Rachel."

"Don't call me that," she murmured, not smiling anymore. It didn't feel right to be called Rachel anymore. Not even by him.

"Listen," he tried again, really wanting her to focus on this right now. He wouldn't get another chance to do it again. "Before we go down into that awful basement, and then to that premiere, there's something I want to know. Even though it hasn't been that long, do you love me?"

"What?" she asked, taken aback by his question.

"Do you love me?" he asked again, resolutely unembarrassed with his question. It would be now or never.

She couldn't believe he was actually asking her this. All along they had managed to stop themselves from being overly sentimental, but now he wanted to go in that direction. Why couldn't they both just keep this pure and mutual?

"Don't make me say it," she tried to dismiss him. She didn't want to admit anything like this. She just wasn't comfortable with it anymore. It was just upsetting, and she needed to be focused and calm right now. But he wouldn't let up, looking her directly in the eyes. There was no way out, it felt like she was surrounded. _Give in, _part of her mind said to her.

_Give in, and relish every minute of it._

"Fine," she sighed, swallowing her pride. "I do. Happy? Do you even love me?"

"It looks like it," he told her. "It really does."

"Well then say it," she demanded, sullenly. She knew she looked flushed, but she couldn't help it. She was caught up between being upset and embarrassed, but deep down she knew how she really felt. She was actually glad. She couldn't believe it, but the fact he might love her sent that old familiar feeling surging through her again. It was juvenile but she couldn't deny that's how she felt. Despite everything, she knew she wanted this. It wasn't fair anymore. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not like she'd planned it at all. She had never wanted to feel like this, and it was definitely all his fault

"I love you," he said simply, pulling her even closer. "How about it?"

"I love you too," she replied. "You sap."

He just smiled at her, happy to hear her say it. He didn't want the time left to be difficult or uncomfortable. Out of months and months of fighting and killing and running, finding her had been the only really good thing. And good for the right reasons. There was no violence with her. Knowing that there was one person left in the world who cared about him had meant so much. It was just one positive thing amidst the chaos. The fact that there could be something good in this cold, hateful world, not just for him, but for anyone, made him sure that he was doing the right thing in Operation Kino. There were good people, and there was love and fellowship as well. That could be worth dying to preserve. And he would always be grateful to her for that.

* * *

I'm getting excited/anxious about what's to come, and now that I've downloaded the script I can actually do some fact checking and quote some dialogue if needs be. **However: **I reeeeally don't see the point in typing out lines and lines of dialogue from the film that we all already know anyway just for the sake of keeping it 100% accurate. Lines will be basically the same, with some of my twists obviously. Let's just say, things aren't strictly going to go down like they did the movie. The reason for this -I'm the author, and this is a fanfic. Let's just do what we want.

As you might have noticed, this chapter is somewhat (HEAVILY) influenced by the Imogen Heap I was blaring in my room on repeat as I wrote this. Check it out: 'The Walk'.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy your stay:D XXX


	24. Stiff Upper Lip

I'm baaaaaaaaack!** I am so so so sorry** that it has been literally months since I have updated, but college has been absolutely mad and I have been very busy and quite stressed. I am now, however, on my Christmas break (merry belated Christmas, guys), which means I finally have time to update. I hope you all forgive me, and haven't gotten bored of me yet.

This is of course the infamous bar scene, however due to its importance I'm splitting it into 2 chapters just so I can fit everything. I hope you enjoy it, its a bit scary getting back in the saddle after all this time...

* * *

The agents of Operation Kino walked as casually as possible down the winding metal staircase, despite its rickety nature. Hicox, Stiglitz and Wicki wore neatly tailored Nazi uniforms, which had been altered accordingly to fit them after they had stolen them. Ellis had just hastily made herself look more like a typical Nazi girlfriend, blouse unbuttoned ever so slightly and plenty of lipstick. Their contact wouldn't be expecting the female addition to the group, so Ellis would have to enter last, giving Hicox the chance to signal the change to von Hammersmark.

She still couldn't believe the contact was Bridget von Hammersmark. After all, she was film star. Film stars didn't have to worry about rations or soldiers or politics. She was the kind of woman who would wear a dress that most normal women would kill to wear. She was who girls would take pictures of into hairdressers and ask to be made look like. What on earth was she doing here?

Hicox and Stiglitz entered first, with Wicki following behind them hanging back at the stairs making sure Ellis didn't come down yet. Much to their collective surprise, the bar was positively brimming with Germans. At the corner table a group of rowdy soldiers were playing some sort of bizarre game with cards on their heads. And sitting amongst them was none other than their famous contact. Hicox stiffened automatically. This wasn't right. They had been assured that the bar would be empty for their meeting, but from the looks of it, it was practically happy hour. What could they do now? They were in and they had been seen. Even if they could turn tail and run, the enemy wouldn't be far behind.

This wasn't good.

"Hello, my lovelies!" Bridget called sweetly from where she was sitting amongst the rabble, looking completely unflustered. "I will join you in moments. I'm just finishing up a game with my five new friends here."

Hicox composed himself properly, and joining in the act, assured her it was fine. He gestured to the others to sit down, to which they grudgingly obliged. Ellis walked slowly down the rest of the stairs, nervous and trying not to show it. The three faux officers sat down at three different sides of the table; Stiglitz with his back to the Germans, Wicki facing them and Hicox in between the two and his back to the bar. Ellis decided against breaking the pattern and sat across from Hicox at the vacant end of the table. Glancing at each of the men, she could see their barely disguised anxiety.

"What is this shit?" Stiglitz hissed at Hicox. He really must be angry if he had deemed speaking appropriate, she thought.

"Obviously there's been a change of plans," Wicki sighed, cautiously gazing over at the raucous soldiers. In the pit of his stomach he knew this wasn't going to end well. He had heard Hicox's German, and while technically perfect, the accent was off-putting. All it would take was one person sober enough to become suspicious if listening in.

"As soon as she joins us, we leave," Hicox told them quietly, his face betraying none of his own anxiety. "If this is a trap, then she's going down with us."

No sooner had he said it than Bridget jovially excused herself from her new friends table and made her way over, still laughing and smiling as she went. Reaching the table, she opened her arms widely. Each of the men stood up and greeted her appropriately, trying to feign a long-standing friendship with the woman who just might be trying to kill them.

"I thought this place was more French than Germans," Hicox informed once she had taken her place in between him and Wicki, edging Wicki closer to Ellis, which she wasn't going to object to. She liked having him nearer now, if something happened there would be nothing either of them could do, but there was something comforting in their close proximity, as if their happier moments were in reach again.

"Normally that's true," Bridget answered him calmly, her voice now a low whisper, her face still painted the cheerful mask it had been when she joined them. She went on to explain that the young Oberfeldwebel nearby had just become a father and was celebrating with friends. It was a plausible excuse, but whether or not it was true was yet to be seen. When Wicki then suggested rather prudently that they all leave, she rebuffed him, telling them that to leave without having a drink would look suspicious. She had a point. The barman was summoned and dutifully placed drinks before them.

"Besides," Bridget continued, taking a delicate sip of champagne, glancing side-wards only briefly. "It seems you are not the only one's surprised. Who is this woman?"

"Ellis is another inside agent," Hicox told her. "She's part of the diversion tomorrow. You paths probably won't even cross. She just needs whatever information you can give us."

"Better be a good distraction, Ellis," Bridget said sarcastically. Ellis stiffened despite herself.

"But I digress," she apologised. "There have been some developments. The cinema venue has changed."

"Ellis has already informed us of that," Hicox assured her. "Smaller venue. Bigger impact."

"That's certainly true," Bridget grinned now, becoming excited as she got ready to tell them her next piece of news. "But the change of venue might be explained by this next development."

She paused for effect. Ever an actress. She could see their newfound intrigue, especially Hicox's.

"In attendance tomorrow night," she continued, still smiling. "Will be none other than the F…"

"Frau von Hammersmark?" a voice came from beside them, cutting her off. The young German sergeant was standing there bashfully, and quite drunk. They all stopped immediately and stared at him. Impulsively Ellis reached under the table for Wicki's hand, and to her surprise he took hers as well. Their faces betrayed nothing, but their hands gripped firmly with anxiety. The others at the table tried not to betray any shock in front of the drunken soldier.

The young man explained that he had supposed Frau von Hammersmark might sign an autograph for his newborn son. She had just smiled even more broadly, and heartily agreed, deciding it would be the easiest way of getting rid of him without too much fuss.

"This young man has just become a father," she informed the group with all the faux affection and familiarity she could muster. They all congratulated him half-heatedly, although the proud drunkard didn't seem to notice as he beamed to himself.

"And do you know the name of your progeny yet?" she asked him, before signing.

"I certainly do, Fraulein," he proudly declared, eyes reddening with emotion. "His name is Maximilian."

"Wonderful name," Stiglitz remarked, trying to sound friendly for once. He seemed like a nice young man, not some bourgeois officer. And while still itching for action, Stiglitz felt suddenly reluctant to harm him. He was just some poor fool who had little choice and knew no better.

"Max is my brother's name," Ellis intoned, trying to sound cheerful enough. They had to appear like good friends catching up. Looking like startled deer was not going to help them. She turned her hand over, still on Wicki's knee and entwined her fingers with his, needing the support. He squeezed her hand in silent understanding.

Whipping out a pen, Bridget hastily scribbled a quick message and signature onto a napkin, kissing it with ruby red lips finally for an extra touch. Once it was handed to him, the sergeant looked at it as though it was a holy relic instead of a beer stained napkin. He began to babble on about having his son grow up watching all of von Hammersmark's films, while they all silently wished he would leave behind their smiles. Bridget feigned humility and smiled demurely.

"I propose a toast!" the young father bellowed finally. "To the greatest actress in Germany! There is no Dietrich, there is no Riefenstahl, only von Hammersmark!"

The drunken Germans erupted with a cheer, banging the table and stamping loudly as they raised their glasses. Bridget giggled nervously, and the others raised their glasses meekly, glancing at each other as if to ascertain what they should do. The young man turned away finally to return to his table.

Hicox eased slightly. At least that was over, but it was a clear sign it was time to leave. Once the attention was gone from them he would instruct everyone to down their drinks and make a hasty exit. It wouldn't look suspicious anymore, they had their drinks and wanted somewhere the actress would be left alone. Perfectly understandable.

"Everyone…" he began to try instructing them.

"So Frau von Hammersmark," the young man was back again, now taking the seat next to Stiglitz with far too much familiarity. "What brings you to France?"

"None of your business, Oberfeldwebel," Hicox finally snapped, giving emphasis to the mans inferior rank. "You might not have worn out your welcome with the Fraulein, with your drunken, boorish behaviour, but you have worn out your welcome with me."

Wicki let go of Ellis' hand and raised it in front of her, as if anticipating having to shove her out of the way. She didn't like this lack of contact and gripped the sides of her chair instead, all the while conscious of playing it cool outwardly. Stiglitz looked positively ready for action now. The soldier was drunk and Hicox was angry. They were seconds away from a fight. Bridget kept her ladylike façade, appearing embarrassed by the raised voices.

"This is an officers table," Hicox continued, almost venomously. "So I suggest you stop pestering the Fraulein and rejoin your table."

The young man looked taken aback, shocked and a bit hurt even. But the surprise soon turned to something else; curiosity. Something puzzled him more than it intimidated him. No one at the table dared to move, or even breathe for that matter.

"Excuse me, Haupsturmführer," he mumbled as respectfully as he could muster, trying not to slur his words. "But your accent is very unusual…"

The entire room was silent now, the soldiers not too drunk to realise something was up. They had been lucky to get a night off to celebrate in the present circumstances, but if they angered their betters who knew what kind of trouble they'd be in.

"…Where are you from?"

Stiglitz immediately sprang into action. He grabbed the collar of the soldier's shirt and wrenched him back, forcing him to look at him face to face, at a dangerously close distance.

"Oberfeldwebel!" Stiglitz growled. "You must be mad or drunk to speak to a superior officer with such impertinence."

He reeled around to face the other soldiers, his face harsh and suitably terrifying to them.

"I'm making you and you…" he continued to roar, pointing at two of the group. "…Responsible for him. And I suggest you take hold of him or he'll spend Max's first birthday in jail for public drunkenness!"

They wasted no time in springing up and grabbing hold of him, trying to pull him back from the table. For his part the offending soldier simply looked bewildered, unable to focus on what was actually going on.

"Then might I enquire?" a voice rang out clearly apart from the fray, stopping everyone in the tracks once more.

From an unnoticed corner, a man stepped out from the smoking room, dressed in the unmistakable garb of the Gestapo. He moved into the room without speaking and made his way to the table. No one dared move or do anything, not the Basterds, not the Germans, not even the barman.

"Like the newly christened father, I too have an acute ear for accents," the Gestapo man continued. "And like him, I too find yours odd. From where do you hail, Haupsturmführer?"

Ellis' hand left the sides of her chair and gripped Wicki's trouser leg. He glanced over at her quizzically and she looked back at him fearfully. She knew this man, this Gestapo. How could she forget?

Dieter Hellstrom.

Months ago this man had interrogated her. She remembered every single detail as if it were new. How he smelt sickeningly of too much cologne. How he slicked back his dark hair as if to resemble Reich minister Goebbels. And of course, how his cold stare had never left her at all in the meeting. Or how his hand wasted no time in violating her personal space.

Wicki saw her concern, but he couldn't fully understand what she meant. Her sickened expression could only convey so much. It wasn't just fear. It was more than that. She knew something very bad was going to happen. He quickly turned his attention back to the Gestapo major, feeling already worse than before.

"Major, this is highly…" he tried to say.

"I wasn't speaking to you, lieutenant Munich," Hellstrom coolly replied. "Or you, lieutenant Frankfurt," gesturing at Stiglitz. "I was speaking to Haupsturmführer I-Don't-Know-What."

All eyes were on Hicox all at once. Hicox's German was good but his accent was far from. What excuse could there be for that?

But to their collective surprise, Hicox kept his poker face on and calmly gave a reasonable and rational explanation for his unusual accent. Having run several covert operations at this stage in his career, and of course, his encyclopaedic knowledge of German cinema, he was able to summon up a convincing back-story. He had been born and raised, plausibly enough, in a tiny rural village at the feet of Piz Palu. Tiny rural village and a funny rural accent. A decent enough lie for now. Von Hammersmark even pitched coquettishly to make it seem all the more believable and the rest of them, excluding Stiglitz, laughed right on cue.

After a moment's tense laughter, Hellstrom laughed too, much to their collective relief. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the soldiers propping up their drunk friend, and they scuttled off back to their table as fast as they could, unwilling to cause any further disruption and get themselves into trouble. Hellstrom never took his eyes off the table, smiling that smug grin of his as he looked at each of them in turn, stopping at last at the famous German actress.

"May I join you?" he asked as politely as he could, making sure to direct this question chiefly at Bridget, who would be far too ladylike to possibly refuse.

"By all means, Major," she replied with a smile. She didn't want him here any more than anyone else did, but to refuse a Gestapo officer would be immediately suspicious. It would mean delaying them even further, but letting the man have one drink with them before they left was their only option now. Hellstrom then proceeded to make Stiglitz move down a seat, rather rudely, so that he was now sitting closest to Bridget and Hicox. Stiglitz very grudgingly moved.

"I must confess, my friends," Hellstrom began, already acting too familiar than was comfortable. "You are not all strangers to me."

"I should hope I'm not!" Bridget tried to joke, hiding her nerves. "I would be very insulted if I was." Ellis stiffened. She didn't just remember Hellstrom, but of course, he remembered her. She might just end up getting them all killed. She saw Stiglitz stiffen too, clearly convinced Hellstrom referred to his own infamy.

"Of course I know the great Bridget von Hammersmark," Hellstrom chuckled, bowing his head slightly in mock admiration for her. "But I also know the other young lady at this table quite well already."

All heads turned to look at her now. Bridget and Hicox looking with immediate suspicion, Stiglitz with some strange sort of curiosity and Hellstrom with an expression of amusement. She didn't look at Wicki; she didn't want to see that expression. Hellstrom had made it sound much sleazier than it already was. It would serve him right if she reminded him that he barely got past her hemline, but at this moment in time that didn't seem prudent.

"It's nice to see you again, Fraulein de Vries," Hellstrom grinned.

"Sturmbannführer Hellstrom," she replied curtly, her smile undeniably bitter. "Do you remember all you interrogations so fondly?"

It wasn't wise to let her bitterness get the better of her now, but she wasn't having anyone here think she had done anything with this toad. She made sure not to break eye contact, not wanting to see the faces of the others right now.

"Only those as nice as yours," he responded, ever the polite gentleman. "And besides, it was purely procedural. Otherwise I would have never been bold enough to speak to such a lovely young woman." He gave another chuckle, as if to ease the tension.

"Interrogation?" Hicox asked, as if only mildly curious.

"Just procedural questioning," Hellstrom shrugged. "Any foreigner travelling to a different country has to get one. Don't worry, Haupsturmführer, we haven't got a rebel in our midst."

He chuckled again, this time Hicox and the others joined, if not somewhat meekly.

"I must congratulate you actually, Fraulein," Hellstrom returned his attention to Ellis once more. "Singing at the premiere of _Stolz der Nation _is quite the honour."

"Thank you," she smiled, trying to seem a little friendlier.

"And from the looks of it, you've managed to find yourself a someone with an appropriate rank," Hellstrom's eyes glanced over at Wicki, who could not help but look unhappy with Hellstrom's presence.

"Actually we only met tonight," Ellis rebuffed him, deciding to take a page out of Hicox's book and to lie. "I knew Frau von Hammersmark from my Berlin cabaret days years ago. And when she arrived and heard I was going to be at the premiere also, she suggested I take one of her guests as my escort."

"Yes, absolutely," Bridget chimed in straight away, playing along dutifully. "When I heard that Ellis would be there also I just knew I couldn't let her go by herself. There would just be too many reputations in that room for any girl to handle."

"No doubt," Hellstrom laughed insincerely, before leaning in as if to gossip. "I have it on good authority that Obergruppenfuhrer Moritz is especially courageous with a few drinks in him."

They all gave another fake laugh.

"I presume then, Frau von Hammersmark" Hellstrom continued, looking now at Hicox. "That the Haupsturmführer here is your escort."

"Somebody has to carry the lighter," Hicox responded with a smile.

"Yes, he's my date," Bridget nodded. "But we're all friends here. In fact these men are some of my oldest friends, Sturmbannführer. We go back a long time. Longer then an actress would care to admit."

More fake laughter ensued.

"Well, in that case," Hellstrom conceded. "Let me raise a glass to the three luckiest men in the room."

"We'll drink to that won't we, Ellis?" Bridget chuckled loudly, trying to keep up the close pretence between them. Everyone at the table raised their glasses to toast.

The tension between all members of Operation Kino was almost unbearable. The Germans being here was bad enough, but now to be seated with Gestapo was almost too much. The entire mission hung by a perilously thin thread, and one false move would see them all killed and the war unaffected. Ellis could barely take her eyes off Hellstrom. He had interrogated her and with her past, she was definitely the shadiest character at this table. Maybe if she hadn't been there he would have left already?

Wicki similarly didn't take his eyes from Hellstrom. He knew the Gestapo were the elite. Heartless creatures, who could sniff out disent like pigs sniffed out truffles. They were in serious danger with this man here. But for Wicki it was more than that. He didn't like his familiarity with Ellis, despite this being the completely wrong time for lover's jealousy. He knew she had a job and duty to perform by any means necessary. He had never had any illusions as to what she may sometimes have had to do, but he still didn't like it. Had Hellstrom…? He didn't know how to be sure. He couldn't stand the thought of being so close to someone who might have actually… No, it didn't even bear to think about it. It was just supposed to be a theoretical thing. He didn't wanted to be confronted with it in reality.

Beside the smug Hellstrom, Stiglitz was nearly losing his mind. He knew all about the Gestapo. They were worst of the worst for him. He remembered all too well what the Gestapo was like. When he had been captured, they had been the ones who had beaten him, interrogated him, and tortured him. He hadn't cracked under their pressure. No one had been able to make him explain himself, or to confess to anything. They probably didn't even care why he did it anyway; they just wanted to crush him. But they were never going to. But he remembered the pain. And he remembered the humiliation. Sitting next to this Gestapo pig was killing him. He could feel every lash of the whip against his bare flesh as if were happening all over again when Hellstrom laughed. He considered blowing their cover entirely and just killing him right here and now. But no, he would have to be patient…

"I must say," Hellstrom continued talking, glancing behind at the soldiers' table, which was now back in full party swing. "That game of theirs looks like a good bit of fun…"

* * *

Et voila! I hope you guys liked it:) Its a bit of a toughie to write, as I've literally had to crowbar Ellis into the scene, but still I hope you like how I did it. I have the script so I'm getting most of the dialogue from that, although with some obvious changes. In the next chapter, which I will have done tomorrow for you as a 'I'm sorry' present, will continue the bar scene so things are gonna be TENSE! Please fell free though to tell me if I've lost the knack or if I've still got my edge for this fic.

On a slightly related note. Whilst out at lunch with my sister, she informed that she had been reading this fic for a while now and had only recently realised it was me. This of course led to much embarrassment on my part. Mortification, even. The I realised she had NEVER ONCE reviewed me!!! **Bitch**... However she did nag back into action so I guess you have her to thank for this chapter.

But anyway, i hope you likeee, and thank you for reading!


	25. Knew We Were Trouble

Back again, and this is the big one:D It was quite tough to write -except for the violent bits... I don't know why but the violent bits were quite enjoyable to write. Maybe I should have that seen too...

Anyway, let's get cracking on and enjoy part deux of the bar scene. I hope you enjoy, but understand; I have made a couple of big changes. All will be made clear in time though;-P

Disclaimer: I realise I forgot to disclaim my last chapter. That's it, I'm going to get sued. Making damn sure I disclaim this one anyway!

* * *

They had been down there ten minutes now. Ten minutes should have been more than enough time. Any good operation moved fast, with no time wasted, and with the bare minimum being said. But they had been ten minutes. Raine didn't like it one bit at all. It was bad enough that they were in a tiny basement and completely out of sight, but this delay really didn't bode well either. For all any of them knew, they were caught or dead already.

No one spoke in the eerie darkness of the room, but Raine was aware that, as usual, the men would be looking at him. What would he say or do? What would he decide on? However insubordinate they could be at times, in particular Donny, it was at times like these that Raine was handed back total control and unquestioning obedience. The situation was bad, and it was up to him alone to do something about it.

But what could he do? If he went charging in while they were still talking, the mission would be compromised. If he waited and did nothing, they could be left undefended, and the mission would also be compromised.

Wicki and Stiglitz were in there. And as unsentimental as Raine was, they were still his men, and he had an obligation to them. They had been doing this for so long at this stage that naturally; he was attached to the whole bunch of Basterds. And none of them had been killed yet, which he was quite proud of. He had done a good job of keeping them safe while they unleashed Hell. True, Wicki and Stiglitz were destined to die, but it wasn't their time yet, and he was going to make damn sure that they didn't.

Ellis was down there too, and while she wasn't one of them, they still owed her. She had put herself on the line several times for them, and she had never betrayed them or let them down. She was no soldier, but Raine could appreciate that. If she could get out, he was going to get her out too. As for Hicox, well, technically he was the most important out of all of them. Truth be told though, Raine didn't make much of him as a man, but he was smart and he knew what to do in these more subtle operations. If he had to be gotten out of there, Raine was going do his damnedest to get him out too.

As for this actress. He didn't really care. She was the contact and she was how they would get in, but he didn't know her and he didn't care to. If she could double-cross the Krauts she could certainly double-cross them. If things started going sour the mission would be kaput anyway, so she wasn't exactly essential to them. Harsh as it seemed, he wasn't going to risk their necks for her.

"Ain't heard nothin' yet," Raine finally spoke. "And if someone tried to take our boys, we all know they wouldn't be polite about it."

No one spoke, listening carefully to Raine in the darkness. He had made a decision at last.

"Ten more minutes," he told them. "Then we go in."

Donny nodded to himself, and he saw the others did the same thing. They didn't lkie waiting, but orders were orders and Raine had a whole lot more experience then the rest of them. He knew best, so he was boss.

Nearly ten minutes later, sound erupted from the tavern. A cacophony of gunshots rang out, causing everyone to jump to their feet. Everyone was caught off guard, shocked. The noise died away very quickly.

"Motherfucker!" Raine yelled, sounding more pained than angry. "Move it! Out the fuckin' door now!"

Things had gone from bad to worse, to downright ridiculous for them. The plan had been to get in, make contact and get out. No muss, no fuss. But they then found themselves surrounded by Germans, who were both drunk and armed, and who then proceeded to harass their contact before she could impart any information to them. And if that wasn't bad enough, Ellis' old Gestapo friend Dieter Hellstrom had decided to join them. And now… Now they all had cards stuck to their foreheads.

"Okay, my native land is the jungle," Hellstrom carefully considered. "I visited America, but my visit was not fortuitous to me… but the implication is that it was to somebody else…"

Hellstrom had roped them into playing games. Bridget had been too aware of causing offence to refuse and so the rest of them were stuck now as well. It was almost comical. Stiglitz even demonstrated some previously untapped humour in writing 'King Kong' on Hellstrom's card. Hellstrom himself was clearly loving it. One by one he asked the appropriate questions and the table responded with unenthusiastic 'yeses'.

"Well, then I must be King Kong," he finally declared. They all laughed, and clapped feigning amusement. "Now, since I answered correctly, you all need to finish your drinks."

He didn't have to say it twice. Ellis downed her glass of whisky in one gulp, out of nerves more than the party spirit. Champagne, like Bridget, may have been the girlier choice, but Ellis found whisky much better for summoning up courage. Wicki and Hicox similarly finished their drinks in a hasty fashion, seeking the same courage. Stiglitz gave Hellstrom another long lingering look of disdain before knocking back his own whisky, card still attached to his head.

"Who's next?" Hellstrom offered enthusiastically.

"Sturmbannfuhrer…" Hicox replied softly, taking the card off his forehead. "I don't mean to be rude. But we are all good friends here. And we haven't seen each other in quite a while. So… I'm afraid, you are intruding."

No one dared to move a muscle. Their lives very possibly depended on how Hellstrom reacted in this moment. Whether he would find it reasonable or rude was totally up in the air. Wicki found Ellis' hand once more in his, and he squeezed it without shame. This was not a pleasant moment. Bridget suddenly looked very pale as she gazed across at the young Gestapo major.

"I beg to differ, Haupsturmführer," Hellstrom replied in a low, soft voice, which didn't fail to bring a chill to the air. "Its only if one of the Frauleins here considers my presence an intrusion, that I become an intruder."

"How about it then, Frauleins?" he turned and regarded each of the women in turn. "Am I intruding?"

"Of course not, major?" Bridget shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant. She looked as white as a sheet at this stage. Her cigarette remained lit and untouched between her fingers, there by habit instead of a desire to smoke. Hellstrom turned back to Ellis now, satisfied with Bridget's response. His look seemed to ask Ellis '_you're not up to anything, are you, Fraulein?'_ She tried to shrug casually in the same fashion as Bridget.

"I didn't think so," Hellstrom grinned, before returning his stare to Hicox. ""It's simply the young Haupsturmführer is immune to my charms."

His voice was completely void of emotion, and barely veiling something very sinister. Holding your breath wasn't an option anymore, it was just impossible to breathe full stop. The table next to them was as rowdy as ever, and yet to them it seemed there was an awful deathly stillness surrounding them. No life, no sound, just something horrible headed straight toward them.

Then, Hellstrom burst into laughter.

"I'm just joking," he wheezed. "I'm just joking. No, no, of course I am intruding. Please, allow me to refill your glasses gentlemen, and will bid you all adieu."

The bubble of tension did not ease. They were all completely on guard. Hicox attempted to look as if he found the joke amusing. Instead he looked ill.

"Eric has a bottle of thirty-three year old scotch whisky from the Scottish highlands," Hellstrom leaned into Hicox with a smile. "What do you say, gentlemen?"

"That's most gracious, sir," Hicox stammered.

And with that Hellstrom called out to the bored-looking barman, barking at him to bring the scotch and new glasses.

"How many glasses?" he asked, rolling his eyes, clearly not thrilled at being barked at.

"Five glasses," replied Hicox, not even bothering to look up at the bar.

"Not me," insisted Hellstrom. "I like scotch, scotch doesn't like me."

"Not me either," Bridget shook her head. "I'll stick to the champers."

'No thanks," Ellis shook her head also. More scotch was not a good idea for her. She already felt sick to her stomach, alcohol would be ill advisable at this moment.

"Three glasses," Hicox called out to the barman, holding up three fingers.

The barman dutifully collected the bottles and glasses on a tray, and made his way over to the table. Another uncomfortable silence fell upon them, even Hellstrom staying silent. Bridget didn't try to make light-hearted conversation or even smile this time, hoping that the Gestapo major hadn't noticed what she had.

But this time was different. Looking across at the young Gestapo, Wicki could see that something was up. He knew something. He wasn't grinning smugly, he was smiling like someone who knew a very special secret, and he no longer looked at any of them, avoiding eye contact entirely. Wicki knew it would be prudent right now to remove his hand from Ellis' and to get in near to his gun, but to do so would only cause her alarm. And what they all needed to do was remain calm.

Eric the Barman placed down the glasses onto the table and proceeded to pour the drinks amidst the silence. Hicox tried to play it casual, but he could feel his heart pound in his chest.

"_Not to worry, old boy," _he thought to himself, willing his heart to slow down. _"You've been in worse jams than this. Remember the Rotterdam job? Got out of that one, didn't you?"_

The barman stepped away and walked back to the bar once again. Hicox handed the scotch to his two comrades, who took it with an air of caution. For a moment afterwards no one did anything. Hellstrom was the first to speak as had become custom.

"To a thousand year Reich," he toasted, lifting his beer stein for them all to join.

"A thousand year Reich," they all muttered in response, only Hicox raised his voice with faux-conviction, proclaiming loudly for all to hear. The Germans from the other table looked over, puzzled for a moment, before returning to their game.

The men all then took a drink, except for Hicox, who still seemed unsure of this drink. There was little chance of it being tampered with, but he still didn't trust Hellstrom's intentions. Hellstrom on the other hand took a generous gulp of his beer, and belched rather unpleasantly.

"Enough of these games," Hellstrom finally said, his eyes harshly set on Hicox's face. A quiet, yet still audible, and very ominous click was then heard. Wicki instantly let go of Ellis' hand this time, hand now poised to grab his gun in a heartbeat. Ellis took a sharp intake of breath, despite herself. She was no military expert, but she knew the sound of cocked gun when she heard it. Stiglitz and Bridget didn't move. Bridget, out of fear, and Stiglitz, not even startled. Hicox had heard the sound too, but it hadn't registered with him yet, as if it was truly unexpected.

"Did you hear that?" Hellstrom said, unsmiling. "That's the sound of my Walther pointed right at your testicles."

"Why do you have a gun pointed at my testicles?" Hicox asked, after a seconds pause, still caught slightly off guard.

"Because you have just given yourself away, Haupsturmführer. You are no more German than that scotch."

Looking over at the bar, Wicki could see that while the barman was pretending to read his book. He was in fact listening in very carefully to the exchange between the two men. Being a sensible bartender in this day and age meant that there was probably a weapon concealed behind that very bar. This was going to end a bloody mess, but Wicki knew that if any of them were going to get out alive, he would have to take out that barman. They would have to kill everyone, but the others wouldn't be expecting it. They would need a moment or two to register what was going on before they pulled out their guns. This barman was poised for action. Wicki knew their lives would depend on him being able to get him down in one shot.

"Major…" Bridget attempted to reason with Hellstrom. Hicox began to say something at the same time, however.

"Shut up, slut," he retorted, his eyes never leaving Hicox's face. She was silenced immediately. The jig was definitely up, and there was no amount of charm or wit that would get her out of this one.

"And you, Fraulein de Vries," he addressed her, not even bothering to look over at her. "Up to your old tricks. How very stupid of you."

She didn't reply, or even move to respond. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of unnerving her, even if he was doing just that. Her mind raced, trying to find a way out of this situation, but there was none she could see. There was only way out of this basement and she would never be able to reach it without getting a bullet and even if she was, she didn't want to leave this place alone.

"But you were saying?" Hellstrom spoke to Hicox again, his finger readily poised to pull the trigger.

"I was saying," Hicox continued, looking nonplussed now having regained his confidence. "That makes two of us. I've had a gun pointed at your balls since you sat down."

"That makes three of us," Stiglitz interred, pulling out his gun quickly and without subtlety, pointing it downwards at Hellstrom's crotch. "And at this range, I'm a real Frederick Zöller."

A devilish grin flashed across Stiglitz's face, and he gave a small laugh. He could certainly be funny when he wanted to be. He was going to give this Gestapo bastard the most unpleasant last few moments that he possibly could. Hellstrom's face was awash with anxiety now, although he tried to suppress it in front of his enemies.

"Quite the sticky situation," he tried to quip.

"What's going to happen," Hicox instructed him. "Is that you're going to stand up, and walk out that door with all of us."

"No, no, no," Hellstrom insisted, his face twisted in a mixture of a grin and grimace, the bitterest smile Ellis had ever seen. "I'm afraid that we both know, no matter what happens to anyone else in this room, the two of us aren't going anywhere."

Hicox's jaw tightened. He was right. The only two people who were certain to die at this point were he and the Gestapo major. A shot to the genitals wouldn't necessarily be fatal, however unpleasant, but there would be no running and no ability to shoot or defend themselves. They were both already dead men.

"Too bad about Oberfeldwebel Wilhelm and his famous friends," Hellstrom inclined his head slightly at the table full of German soldiers. "If any of you expect to live you'll have to shoot them too. And poor little Max will grow up an orphan. How sad."

The mocking tone which he took in saying this made Wicki's blood run cold. He wasn't supposed to feel bad about killing Germans. Just the same as so many Germans didn't care about killing Jews. But somewhere in Germany right now, there was a tiny, defenceless baby who had nothing to do with any of this, and who was about to lose his father; just some idiot who did what he was being told. An innocent child who would never know his father, and Hellstrom didn't care one tiny bit.

"In fact," Hellstrom sardonically remarked, casting quick glances at both the women at the table. "I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of your harpies who ended up doing it. Women can be so cruel."

"To pigs like you…" Ellis snapped, not sure if she wanted to cry or leap over the table and slap the grin right of his mouth. Wicki raised a hand, stopping her. There could be no raised voices. Their best chance lay in the soldiers suspecting nothing.

"Well, if this is it, old boy," Hicox interrupted them, switching back to English, and turning to his untouched scotch. "I hope you don't mind if I go out speaking the King's."

"By all means, Captain" Hellstrom replied in English.

Hicox took a cigarette from Bridget's open case on the table, and lit up one last time, taking a deep inhalation and savouring it. He then picked up his glass and looked intently at the warm amber-coloured liquid inside, swilling it around only ever so slightly. One good gulp was all he would need. A final stinging and warming sensation to liven him up for his final seconds. He had been bought this drink, after all, and it would be just downright rude not to drink it.

"There's a special rung in Hell reserved for people who waste good scotch," he informed the young Gestapo. "And seeing as I might be rapping on the door momentarily…"

And with that he downed the entire glass, feeling the harsh warming immediately as it slid down his throat. He closed his eyes for a second to block out every other sensory distraction from that one sensation. Hellstrom hadn't lied. This was quality stuff. It was almost comforting to him that one of his last earthly experiences would be one of his best. God's ironic consolation prize, even.

"I must say," Hicox smiled and gave a nod. "Damn good stuff."

Bridget shifted nervously in her seat. If they fired under the table there was one certain outcome; she was going to get shot. In all likelihood she would never walk again, or at least lose a leg. That was, if she managed to survive by some miracle, which was very doubtful.

"Now about this 'pickle', we find ourselves in…" Hicox continued, taking in another long drag of his cigarette. The moment was coming. He could almost hear the countdown to the explosion in his head. Strangely enough, he didn't feel the fear of it though. Perhaps his subconscious was blessing him with some blind denial in order to preserve him from any mental or emotional pain, but he felt very calm. More calm than one should in this sort of situation, he supposed.

"…It would appear there's only one thing left for you do."

"And what would that be?" Hellstrom asked him bitterly.

"Stiglitz," Hicox addressed the man across from him.

"Say _auf wiedersehen _to your Nazi balls," Stiglitz informed him, with wicked delight etched across his face.

And with that the crack of gunshots began, and Hellstrom could barely managed to choke out a gasping cry before his hand fired automatically, hitting Hicox right on target and also ripping into Bridget's calf. She let out an all mighty scream before tumbling backwards off her chair. Hicox was thrown back immediately also, hitting his skull against the bar and mercifully snapping his neck before he could feel anything.

Wicki immediately leapt up and shot straight at the barman's head before he had a chance to move, hitting him almost dead centre between the eyes. The man fell back straight away, his poised shotgun falling to the ground with a clatter. The barmaid screamed in fear and horror, frozen to the spot with shock. He then turned his attention to the Germans, pushing any thoughts of the boy Max from his mind.

He hit one with his back to him right off, killing the man before he knew what was happening. The man sitting beside him reeled around though, pulling his own gun out as two of the others sprung up, confused but firing anyway. Wicki gunned down the woman soldier and the smaller man quickly, leaving him only with the two surviving soldiers to deal with. The young father stumbled off his chair, dazed and frightened, landing on the floor and scrambling for something to defend himself with.

Stiglitz, unconcerned with the furore erupting around him, pulled out his knife quickly to finish the job. He violently stabbed the back of Hellstrom's head and neck, not caring if he was already dead. But before his fury could be sated he felt a searing pain rip through the back of his shoulder, sending him spinning off his chair and into darkness before he even hit the floor.

Before Ellis had had time to react at the start of the chaos, Wicki's elbow had collided painfully with her breastbone, sending her chair backwards as he leapt up to shoot. Before she could crack her skull against the wall though, her chair fell against one of the wooden supports embedded in the wall, causing it then to tilt and twist around, sending her flying to ground, smacking her face sharply on the stone floor. She lost her vision in a flash of shocking white light, before everything became black, and she couldn't even feel the pain of her injured body. Her mind was wiped completely for that moment. All her blurred thoughts could make out was shooting and then utter silence. She then could make out voices, but not what they were saying. There was more firing and then just voices. She couldn't focus or concentrate any mental power on deciphering them though.

"_We got another live one!" _came a voice, sounding very far away.

"_He's alive too!" _came another one seconds later.

She heard the words, but couldn't make sense of anything, her head now beginning to wring in pain of the abuse it had just taken.

"Don't worry, Ellis," a voice spoke softly to her from nearby, and she became aware that a pair of arms was lifting her from the cold floor. "We're getting out of here."

She knew that voice, her mind coming back into focus. She knew who this was.

_Wicki._

Only when she was hit by a mass of cold air did she realise she had been taken outside. They were escaping. Was it over? Her eyes were still too blurred for her to make out anything but shapes and shadows around her, and she still struggled to make sense of all the noises and sensations, but two things were for certain. She was not dead, she was in far too much pain to have been released from it. And secondly, Wicki was alive and he was with her too.

"Fuck, man!" Omar cried out, watching the injured quickly being pulled from the basement as he sat ready behind the wheel of the truck.

"Don't panic, Omar," Raine ordered him as he climbed in the front seat next to him. "Last thing we need's a fuckin' car crash."

The others climbed in the back, pulling in their injured comrades with them, carefully aware of any further damage they may do. Donny then quickly jumped in the front with Raine and Omar.

"They're in," he told them breathlessly. "Now drive like Hell to the woods."

"They need a doctor!" Omar yelled in exasperation. "We can't just hightail it and end up with three bodies."

"We are getting help, asshole!" Donny roared back at him. "On he way here Kagan said he saw a house with a plaque on the door saying 'doctor' on it."

"Keep it down," Raine warned them both. "The whole village is probably already up with that racket, let's not screw ourselves over anymore than we have. Omar, get your ass movin' to that doctor now!"

Omar didn't need to be told twice. He wrenched the truck into gear and hit the accelerator hard, sending the vehicle flying forwards and onto the road ahead with a bump. With a further screech of their tyres, they were off like lightening.

In the back the other Basterds tried to hold their injured friends down as still as possible to prevent any more pain. As they bumped and shook on the poorly made roads, another shot of burning, sharp pain erupted in Bridget's leg as she was jilted side to side where she sat, left unaided by the Basterds. She burst into sobs of pain, only to have Hirschberg pin her back and cover her mouth to keep her quiet.

* * *

Aw, bye bye Hellstrom:( He was fun to write, a total and utter creep. Watching and re-watching the bar scene as I did I really came to appreciate August Diehl's performance, awesome characterisation and just a dream to write for. Major props to August then. As an actor he really deserves it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway, its been one of those things that I've been thinking for ages like "Oh no, I have to do that!" but now it's done and dusted and i am quite happy with the result, so please let me know if you are. Or if you think its crap then please do say so, but nicely.

Thank you so much for your reading, and also for the very nice reviews I've been given. They are so much appreciated (even if my sister STILL hasn't reviewed me). Silly cow.

Merci beaucoup!


	26. Bye, Bye Blackbird

Another day, another chapter:) I love the Christmas hols! I'm not going to prattle on too much up here, but I will say this: This was the hardest chapter I've ever had to do and it put me through a lot of pain! But more on that later...

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim this, and everything else!

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It was a bloody mess in that bar. As soon as Raine walked down the stairs he could see nothing but carnage. The air stank of smoke and strong liquor. The German woman had gunned down the young man he had negotiated with, Wilhelm. It was a shame, but he understood it had to be done. No one but their people were allowed out of this tavern. In fact, it was probably better she had done it. He felt sorry for the poor guy, and this way he didn't break his word. Bridget had done the shooting, not him.

Looking around, he could see that Hicox was obviously dead. His body was lying in too awkward an angle for there to be any life left in him. His neck had snapped. It was probably for the best. Raine had no idea what had gone down, but it had certainly been messy. The others piled in after him one by one, with the exception of Omar and Kagan, who had been instructed to get the truck and hurry back.

"Sakowitz," Raine called out, not looking back at the men. "You and Zimmerman grab the Kraut and get her out of my sight."

Bridget didn't have time to protest, Zimmerman and Sakowitz moved in and pulled her up from where she lay, leg covered in blood. She let out a gasp of pain, prompting them to be more careful with her. After all, they needed to be as quiet as possible. Zimmerman picked her up and Sakowitz helped them to ascend carefully up the stairs, waiting just until Omar was in sight before they ran for the truck.

"Lieutenant!" came Donny's voice from behind Raine, who was checking behind the bar for any unfortunate survivors. He spun around to see what the commotion was all about.

"It's Wicki," Donny called over. He was crouched beside his fallen comrade, too afraid to touch or move him. "He's alive."

Raine moved quickly over to where Wicki was lying, shielded behind the spiral staircase. He would never have admitted it, but his heart actually missed a beat. He hadn't dared hope any of his men would be alive.

Wicki looked bad. There were two bullet wounds on the right side of his torso, and another on his left side underneath his stomach. The wound on his stomach was bleeding substantially more than the ones on his chest. His breath was little more than a rattle in his chest, and though his eyes were open it was clear he could barely focus them. Instinctively, Raine pulled off the scarf around his neck and pressed it against the worst wound, placing pressure on it and hoping to stem the blood flow. Too much blood had been lost already.

"You son-of-a-bitch," Raine exclaimed, unable to disguise his happiness. These wounds were bad, but Wicki was alive. "We're gonna fix you up real good."

"Sir!" came Hirschberg's voice then. "We've got another live one!"

Turning around, both Donny and Raine looked up to see Hirschberg propping up a clearly disorientated Ellis. Her eyes were glazed as they blinked over and over again, as if she couldn't see at all. Hirschberg put his hand behind her head to try and steady her, but pulled it away when he realised it was bleeding profusely, darkening her blond hair and covering his hand.

"Hear that?" Raine turned back to Wicki, who was not looking too responsive at all. "Your girl's alive." All Wicki could do was cough violently. Raine hoped he had heard him. People with enough motivation to stay alive often survived against the odds.

"His girl?" Donny asked, puzzled.

"Mind your own damn business, Donny," Raine snapped back quickly.

"Oh…" Donny suddenly understood. _His girl. _That actually made a lot of sense. And it certainly explained a few things. But now wasn't the time to think about that sort of thing.

"He's alive too!" came Utivich's voice from behind them all. All heads immediately darted up to see.

To their collective surprise, Stiglitz was sitting up after being deathly still only moments ago. His head bled also and he was clutching his left shoulder tightly, blood trickling through his fingers. No one could speak with astonishment.

"My arm fucking hurts," Stiglitz growled in German, as if he didn't care about the chaos which surrounded him or that his colleagues had all turned as white as ghosts.

"You…" Utivich began, sounding timid. "…you okay?"

"I look okay?" Stiglitz replied, not even bothering to look away from his injured arm.

"Fair enough," Utivich knew when not to push his luck, especially with the angry German.

"Well, I'll be…" Raine couldn't believe it. He wasn't the type to get religious, but this was a miracle if ever he saw one. His men were alive, so was Ellis. How they had managed it was beyond him.

"Sir," came Sakowitz's voice above them. "Truck's here."

"Hirschberg, you bring Ellie," Raine ordered, springing immediately into action. "Utivich, you help Stiglitz. Donny, you and me's gonna get Wicki out of here. And be careful!"

Hirschberg moved fast, picking up the injured woman in lightning speed and moving over to the stairway. For a small man, he was strong.

"Utivich, you and Stiglitz go first, you'll be faster," Hirschberg called over to Utivich.

"Okay," Utivich approached Stiglitz, who was standing up slowly. "Here, let me help…"

"Don't touch me," Stiglitz shot back, getting up and moving towards the stairs, still clutching his arm tightly. Utivich backed off immediately. Stiglitz's head was pounding and his ears were still ringing. He felt a little breathless as well, but he was not going to show it. He moved quickly up the stairs, not even bothering to look back, just wanting to get out of there and to get the bullet out of his shoulder. Utivich followed behind, throwing a bewildered look at Raine.

As the two men moved, Raine and Donny each threw one of Wicki's arms around their necks and pulled him from the ground. He groaned in pain. Raine made sure to keep pressure on his wound as they waited for Utivich and Stiglitz to get a move on. Wicki turned his head and cast his blurred eyes on Ellis' shape. She was alive. He had managed to get her down in time. He felt so weak and sore that he could have almost cried with the relief.

"Don't worry," he croaked softly to her in German, unable to even think in English anymore. "We're getting out of here." He doubted she could even hear him.

* * *

The journey was rocky and bumpy, and try as the Basterds might they could only do some much to prevent their friends from being jilted back and forth. It was one of these jolts that finally brought Ellis back to reality. Breathing in deeply, the shapes all around her turned into familiar faces. She saw that Utivich and Zimmerman were propping up Wicki, Utivich holding a bloody rag to his stomach. He looked awful. He was breathing heavily and he looked so pale that his lips were almost blue. He was covered in blood and sweat, and yet he was shivering as though cold.

She felt dizzy and her head throbbed painfully, but she meekly tried to move closer to him. Sakowitz, who was keeping hold of her, tried to force her to sit back again. She hit his arm feebly and he let go, seeing her determination to be set free. Unable to walk amidst all the bumps shaking the vehicle, she crawled the few short feet in between her and Wicki, pushing past the legs in her way.

"How is he?" she asked Utivich once she had managed to get beside them. Her head was still spinning and she still felt weak, but she wasn't going to let anything stop her now.

"He's breathing," Utivich told her, unsure of what else he could say. He was in bad shape, but he was alive.

"Wil?" she spoke softly to him, touching his face with her hand to try and get his attention. His skin felt like ice. "Wil, can you hear me?"

"I knew you'd be okay," he wheezed in German, smirking when he opened his eyes to see her there. "You're bleeding…"

"So are you," she retorted, trying to at least fake a laugh. She was so close to tears that her eyes stung. She responded to him German, aware that everyone could hear them, but still wanting some privacy.

"My coat is somewhere…" he tried to say, he made as though he might try to sit up, but he didn't have the strength.

"I'll get it for you," she replied, looking over to where the Basterds had thrown all their stuff in the truck earlier.

"No," he muttered. "In it… it's for you…"

"I don't understand," the twists the truck was making were only making her feel more woozy.

"Rachel," he rasped. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that…" A cough interrupted his line of speech. It sounded so guttural and painful.

"Don't worry," she reassured him, placing her hand upon his face again, her thumb gently tracing up and down his cheek. "We'll be there soon."

She had no idea where they going, or whether they were going to get there anytime soon, but she told him so anyway. Her eyes were beginning to blur again.

"You said you loved me…" he started again, as if struggling to remember it.

"Only after you told me you loved me," she smiled. Despite her smile though, her tears had begun to fall, silently running down the sides of her face. He wanted to reach out and touch her face as well, but he couldn't move and there was no use in trying. He wanted to lean forward and wipe away one of those salty tears, or to kiss her cheek and to taste it. Even in the darkness and the cold, bloody and bruised, she was still the angel he had always seen her as.

"Rachel?" he tried to speak again. She tried to reply, but the dizziness filled her head once again and her vision cut out completely. Once again she fell into the dark haze she had been before, only prevented from hitting the floor by the quick arm of Utivich.

* * *

"What the Hell is this?" Omar asked, as they all bundled into the large former farmhouse. "This don't look like no doctor's place I ever been to." He eyed up the cages of several dogs who were now very awake and barking loudly.

"Of course it does," insisted Donny, hitting the back of Omar's head, as though he was some sort of stupid school kid. "It's got an operating table and everything."

"A strangely small operating table," Utivich informed them, propping up the wounded comrade he was helping Kagan to carry. "And posters and diagrams of dogs and cats all over the walls. Oh yeah, and a fucking zoo in the corner."

"Godammit!" yelled Raine, laying down a wounded Bridget roughly on the floor. "This ain't no doctor, Kagan. It's a fuckin' vet."

"It said 'doctor' outside," Kagan insisted defensively. "And I can't read no French words."

"Shit!" exclaimed Raine. "Now what we supposed to do?"

This whole thing had been a disaster from start to finish. He had two men dead back there, not even able to take their bodies, and now they didn't even have a doctor to help their wounded.

"A vet's kinda like a doctor," Donny offered. "For animals, but I mean he's gotta be able to do something."

"Sir, we don't have much choice," Zimmerman agreed, already clearing off the operating table.

"Please!" cried Bridget from the floor, her leg feeling as though it were on fire.

"You don't talk till we talk to you!" Raine yelled down at her.

Just then the door at the opposite end of the surgery flew open, and a small, wizened old man stood there trembling with a shotgun in hand. He didn't speak, he just stood their pointing an unsteady barrel at them. He looked ancient and rather fragile. It wasn't ideal in a doctor, but it was ideal for intimidation.

"Who speaks frog?" demanded Raine. He knew a couple of the boys knew some phrases, although they were mostly just asking directions and saying pleases and thank you's. They had avoided civilians as much as possible, purely for everyone's safety, so he had no idea how much French any of them actually spoke.

"I got this," Donny pulled out his own handgun and pointed it directly at the cages of dogs. Horror spread across the old man's face and he instantly put down his weapon.

"Non, non," he pleaded. "S'il vous plaît!"

"I'll do it," Donny warned him.

"Stop it!" Bridget cried out again. "He doesn't understand what you want. I speak French, I'll tell him!"

"Well, then parlé," Raine told her brusquely. "And make it fast."

* * *

Ellis didn't know how or when she had gotten there, but when her eyes and mind could focus again she realised she was lying on some sort of sofa. She was in the living room of a house she didn't recognise with her head pounding. She sat up quickly, trying to see what was going on, only for a stabbing pain to zip up the side of her neck. She fell back again, clutching both her head and neck.

"Whoa, whoa!" came a familiar voice. "Take it easy."

Opening her eyes again she saw that Utivich had knelt down beside the sofa she was on, his hand now behind her back giving it support.

"We're outside Nadine," he informed her in a calm voice. "We got you guys out of the tavern and we're now getting you all help."

"We're with a doctor?" she croaked.

"Sort of," he replied, not strictly lying.

"Where are the others?" she asked him. "What's happening?" She felt too disorientated to make sense of what he had just said.

"Calm down," Utivich reassured her. "They're with the doctor right now. But he's seen you and says you took a pretty nasty hit to the head."

He didn't want to tell her that half her face was now bruised or that blood was now matted into her blonde hair. She had been through enough tonight without taking a blow to the ego. Soon enough, she'd catch sight of her reflection and find out for herself.

"Doc says you're okay" he continued, his voice still soft and low. "He doesn't think you're concussed. Just bruised and beat up all over. You don't need stitches or anything though."

One side of her body was aching with pain from her rough landing on the tavern floor, and her brain felt like it was about to burst through her skull. She could taste blood in her mouth.

"Where are the others?" she asked him again, trying to right herself again. Despite the pain, she found that she could sit up and move, if not somewhat slowly.

"I'll take you," he helped her up this time. "They'll probably want to ask you some questions anyway."

They began to slowly move towards the surgery, Utivich carefully keeping her supported so she didn't fall. She didn't object, within three feet she already felt dizzy. She definitely would need his help walking. They made it as far as the door of the room before the pain in her neck came back and she had to stop.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "No rushing."

"Thank you," she replied. "And to think, I thought you were such a pig."

"I kind of was," he shrugged slightly. "But hey, best buddies now, aren't we?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," she joked as well, ignoring the pangs in her broken body. "I always knew a good friend when they carried me home from the bar."

And with that, he helped her to move forward again. Down the hallway they went, before entering a small room full of chairs, which could have only been some sort of waiting room. She spotted several pictures on the wall of children running with dogs, or old ladies sitting by firesides with a cat on their laps. She decided to say nothing. Obviously finding a doctor was a little bit too ambitious at this time, a vet was going to have to do.

"You should sit down," Utivich offered, leading her to one of the chairs. She didn't object. It felt like her body would give way underneath her if she didn't rest it now. Just then, Raine and Donny both came through the door of the surgery.

"Good," Raine declared once he had spotted her. "You're up, then."

"I am," she nodded, slowly, trying not to hurt her neck anymore. Both the men came forward towards her, pulling over chairs to sit on as well.

"Now, Ellie," Raine began, cautiously looking her over. "I know you probably ain't feelin' the best right now…"

"Not really," she replied. "And I'm certain I look worse." Her throbbing head was making her ill tempered. She didn't want to take it out on Raine, or anyone else, but she didn't have much control over it either.

"That bein' said," Raine conceded, trying to be tactful. "We need to know what went on down in that basement. The German woman told us somethin' and we need to be sure she ain't lyin' to us."

"What did she say?" Ellis asked.

"You tell us. If she's bein' straight, the stories will match up."

"Maybe we should wait," Utivich tried to say. "She's only up now."

"I'm fine," she insisted, trying to concentrate on sorting through the images in her head. She knew what had happened, but right now the events were jumbled all together with no order or framework to distinguish them.

"We ain't got much time," Raine reminded Utivich.

"There were Germans," she began, not able to remember even what they looked like. "One of them had become a father, I think. Then all of a sudden there was a Gestapo major there. He wouldn't leave and so the Englishman asked him to. He bought drinks and…" She wasn't sure what had occurred next if she was totally honest. "I don't know… He must have done something, because the Gestapo major took out his gun and that's when it all happened."

None of them spoke for a moment. The story matched, so von Hammersmark was telling the truth. Ellis watched each of their expressions curiously, not sure whether what she had told them had been of any use at all.

"All right, then," Raine finally spoke, standing up and looking at both Donny and Utivich. "Kino is still a-go."

"Are you serious?" she asked him. "How can it still be on? Surely our cover has been completely blown."

"Anyone who knows anything about the mission is either here or dead," Raine informed her.

"How is anyone is any sort of shape to attend a premiere?" she retorted, standing up as well. "I'm surprised that any of us survived at all."

"You just need a little cleaning up," Raine coolly replied. "And some make-up and whatcha know -good as new."

"Me, Raine and Omar are gonna go instead," Donny told her, sounding ready for action already. "We're gonna make like we're Italian so no one will know the difference."

"You're not serious," she exclaimed, almost laughing. "Do you really think that will work? Italians? And how the Hell am I supposed to walk, let alone sing?"

"You're just a little banged up," Raine dismissed her. "Just take it easy and you'll be fine. Do you really care if they think you sound like shit?"

She didn't respond. It was a fair point.

"And you can't just call the whole thing off?" she tried again.

"Sorry," Raine told her. "But the stakes just got a whole lot higher. We do this we end the war. Full stop."

"Hitler's gonna be there," Donny interred, sounding almost giddy. "We're gonna get the son-of-a-bitch himself."

"What?"

"Adolf his self," Raine confirmed. "So no matter what might happen, we gotta take a crack at it."

She didn't reply. How could she reply? The magnitude of what had just been said, and even downplayed, was just too great. Hitler himself. The man who was the leader and figurehead of man's inhumanity was going to be there. The self-styled god amongst men and hope for an 'improved' human race was coming out to play with the petty bourgeois at movie premiere. The physical incarnation of evil, and the cause of all her suffering, and so much more was going to be there. Fear and uncertainty had to be pushed aside. There was no more room for them. They had always intended on killing as many people as they could in that cinema, but now… Now they could narrow it down significantly.

The war could end completely. It could end and things could be fixed. Well, fixed to a certain extent. People wouldn't have to hide anymore. They could be free. It didn't matter what happened to them. All that mattered was what would happen to _him. _

"Okay," she replied, trying not to let her voice tremble too much. She needed to have as strong a resolve as these men. She had little illusion as to what very well might happen to her in this situation, but she would have to grit her teeth and accept whatever happened next.

"All right, then," Raine replied quietly. _Poor girl_, he thought. What had they done to her? If he hadn't talked her into doing what they wanted she needn't have heard about Kino at all. But he wasn't going to patronize her either. If she was in this, she was fully in. She was capable of putting her head down and doing what needed to be done, she had proven that. And now he would trust she would do the same.

"Where's Wicki?" she asked him then. "I want to see him."

Raine didn't respond. In fact, he didn't even move, his eyes still right on he face. The smirk vanished from Donny's face, leaving an almost anxious expression there instead. His eyes darted over to where Utivich stood, before looking away from them all entirely. Utivich could only manage to take a sharp intake of breath.

"Ellis…" Utivich began.

"I don't care how bad he is," she told him. "I want to see him right now." And it was true. She didn't want to be spared any pain in seeing him hurt, she just wanted to see him alive. He had looked awful in the truck, but just the sight of him had made her heart feel as though it would burst. They couldn't just boss her around and then deprive her of this one thing. It didn't matter if the whole world knew about them anymore. She didn't care. She just needed to see him

"Is he being operated on?"

"Wicki died on the way here, Ellis," Raine informed her. His voice was firm and businesslike, but his expression looked a lot wearier and a lot sadder than that. "He was dead by the time we got here."

"That's not possible," she could feel her muscles freeze inside her and her heart begin to beat increasingly fast and hard in her chest. Why would he lie like that? It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. She had spoken to him in the truck, he had been alive. He looked sick, but he was always so strong. How could he have died?

Before she could say or think anything else, her lungs gave out. She couldn't breathe. She was choking. She desperately wanted air to fill her lungs so she could scream or cry or at least say something. But her airways completely closed and she couldn't even breathe anymore. She gasped and landed back down on the chair, her weak grip trying to prevent her from falling off completely. Her eyes watered only slightly, not even letting her cry now. Her body rejected what she had been told so violently that she felt it just might kill her too.

"Shit," exclaimed Raine, moving forward to make sure she didn't fall. "Donny, get the doc. We're gonna need something."

Utivich came forward as well, putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her up, just as he did moments when bringing her down here. It had been in the truck that they had all realised just how close Wicki and their Mata Hari really were. Most of the Basterds hadn't understood what they were saying, but they could see the way they were together. Stiglitz who did understand had looked away, as though there was nothing happening, uncomfortable and unwilling to listen. The German woman had already been crying in her pain, but her sobs had faded away as the two spoke, giving them reverential silence, allowing only quiet tears to pour down her face instead. Utivich had only then fully understood what was between Wicki and Ellis, but this took him off guard. He had never seen grief literally rip through someone before. She was still only recovering from the night's events and now this had broken her down all over again. It hadn't been just a 'thing'. They had been in love. He could do nothing and say nothing.

Donny reappeared quickly, pulling the unfortunate vet behind him. The man was obviously confused and a bit frightened, but upon laying eyes on the hyperventilating woman he immediately changed his expression to one of concern.

"Can't breathe" Donny tried telling him. But the man only shook his head, not comprehending. Head injuries could lead to seizures, or maybe she had a bruised lung he hadn't checked for earlier, she might even have gone into shock. He wasn't used to treating people, how on earth was he supposed to know what to do now.

"Je ne sais pas…" he tried to tell them, hoping it wouldn't land him in trouble.

"Where's the woman?" Raine asked, realising Bridget would be the only one able translate appropriately.

"She passed out," Donny replied, still holding on to the vet's collar. He felt almost powerless in this situation. He didn't know how to deal with an upset woman. Did anyone?

"Triste," Utivich made an attempt at explaining to the vet, gesturing toward a shaking Ellis. He hadn't done very well in French at school, but at this moment he had to try something. It was the only word he could think of that related to this right now. _Triste_. A horrible way of simplifying it, but he didn't know what else to do.

"Triste?" the vet repeated, still looking confused. He gave another look at the gasping woman before a look of understanding crossed his expression. _Sad. _She was in shock, but not from her injuries. This was grief. She needed something to calm her down.

"Je comprend," he nodded.

"Good," Raine shouted. "Now move it."

Donny released the man from his grip, and he hurried back inside his surgery. Quickly rummaging through various bottles on his shelves he found it. She needed to be calmed down, but these drugs were for animals, not people. He needed something strong enough to sedate, but not so much that might kill her. The tiny bottle he held now held the stuff necessary to do that, although she would have to be kept an eye on just in case she drifted off. He grabbed a nearby syringe and filled it with the sedative. Running back out, he went straight over to Ellis, Raine moving back automatically to let him through. Taking her arm he managed to inject her, although her arm tried to pull away instinctively.

At first it had no effect, she still choked and spluttered, her body shaking in Utivich's grip. But as the seconds passed she became stiller and stiller. Her breathing ceased to be gasping, and instead became a tired sounding wheeze. Any strength that had been n her arms and legs ebbed away, and Utivich's hold became the only thing keeping her upright.

"Not so hard," the vet tried to explain to Raine in heavily accented English. "But no sleep."

His English was terrible but he hoped the Americans would understand what he meant. The sedative was made for creatures much smaller than the young lady and so it wouldn't knock her out completely, but they still needed to make sure she didn't lose consciousness. It was dangerous giving drugs not meant for humans to her, but there was little else he could do now.

"Merci," nodded Raine, hoping the vet meant what he thought he meant. "Donny, you get her upstairs to the room."

"What about the suits?" Donny asked, reminding Raine that there was still a mission to think about.

"I'll wake the Kraut up," Raine reassured him. "One way or another. You just get your ass back down here ASAP, and we'll get movin'. Utivich, go with her and make sure she don't go dyin' on us."

Utivich merely nodded. Raine knew as well as being probably the smartest, he would be the most sensitive. There was nothing he could do or say, but he would be the most likely to shut up and listen to her. From having a wife of his own, Raine knew that's what a woman generally wanted in such situations. Utivich wouldn't be dumb enough to try and cheer her up or try to philosophise. He wouldn't tell her to get a hold of herself either, which would be even worse. She just needed to get it out of her system straight away so she could function for the mission, which was now less than twelve hours away.

Without another word Utivich helped her up, as Donny moved forward and gingerly picked her up and began to move down the hallway. Utivich followed behind, his stomach in knots. Wicki was gone, they all knew it, but no one had mentioned it or even showed signs of acknowledging it. He had been their fellow Basterd for so long and now he was gone, lying on the floor of the vet's office. It seemed so cold, and so cruel, but they had had no other option. He had been one of them. They had all made it so far, staying alive against every odd. But now one of them was gone and it almost seemed unreal. They couldn't handle it, and so they made it out like it didn't happen. For all their efforts one might even think that Wicki had just gone off momentarily and would be back soon.

But then she had asked, and they had been forced to admit the truth. And she had reacted just like anyone would when faced with the loss of a loved one. Utivich wasn't ashamed to admit that it had scared him, just like he had seen it had shaken Raine and even Donny. Zimmerman was married, and Kagan and Sakowitz both had girlfriends back home. Omar had a girl he used to harp on and on about too, although eventually that had stopped, probably from the soreness of being apart for so long. Raine was married as well, although he never talked about his wife. Would any of their women act any differently if faced with the same news? What about their parents? Or their siblings or friends? What about their kids?

They used to never have to think about it. Pushing any apprehensions out of their minds the second they had popped in. But now the three men who had witnessed Ellis' grief wouldn't be able to think about anything else. It was easy to put yourself out there for the one's you love, Utivich realised, but it's probably not easy for them to let you go.

Donny didn't speak as he moved up the stairs, looking ill all of a sudden. Like Utivich he had just been faced with a painful truth and he didn't like it. He had always hated it when girls cried. What were you supposed to do? Whenever he saw the waterworks he had been filled with a sudden need to get the Hell out of there. It's not that he didn't care, but he just didn't know what to do. He hated feeling so powerless. He liked Ellis, and Wicki had been his friend, and deep down inside him there was a pang of guilt for being so useless to both of them. He hadn't been able to help Wicki, and now all he wanted to do was get away from her.

But he would make it up to both of them. He was going to make it up to everyone he knew, and even those he didn't. He swore to himself that he was going to stop all of this suffering right at the source. Tomorrow night he would go to that premiere and he would end this war. No more Jews being killed or sent to death camps, no more soldiers dying for nothing, no more hiding and no more running for anyone. He was going to make sure that Adolf Hitler died the death he deserved to die. He didn't care who or what had to be taken out of the way. He was going to finish this once and for all.

Utivich moved in front of Donny and Ellis once they were on the upstairs landing, moving to one of the bedroom doors.

"Not that one," Donny hissed, as the Little Man went over to the doorway. "That Frog's kids are in there, and his broad's in the other one. We gotta stick her in the one we put Stiglitz."

"We can't do that," Utivich whispered, moving back over to Donny. He prayed that she was once again too disorientated to understand what they were saying. "It's not fair on her."

"We don't got a choice," Donny told him flatly.

"Don't be an asshole, Donny," Utivich pleaded almost. "It's just going to remind her. We'll just take her down to the couch again."

"I'm not being an asshole," Donny snapped back in a low voice. "How do you think the other guys are gonna feel seeing her like this? They know their buddy is gone, and I ain't gonna keep reminding them."

He made a good point. The others had lost Wicki too, and to be made endure more of that pain was not going to help them. They needed to be focused for a mission which had just become a whole lot more precarious.

"Shit…" he finally conceded.

"Yeah, it's shit, I know," Donny sympathised. "But you just gotta keep her calm, okay?"

"Okay."

He now moved over to the bedroom where an injured Stiglitz had put to rest after the vet patched him up. He wasn't fit for Kino anymore, barely able to lift his arm and two of the disks in his back needing to be put back into place. He had been knocked out to give him some rest anyway. Knowing Stiglitz, he would probably still be up for the mission anyway, despite however his body might protest. Ellis was in for a rough time though, and having to be on form tonight was certainly not going to make it an easier on her.

Donny carried her over to the bed and put her down as carefully as he had picked her up. She just lay there, her eyes open and occasionally blinking with bewilderment, her breathing shallow. Utivich sat down on the end of the bed, as Donny left the room as fast as he could. Utivich was left in the semi-darkness and quietness of the room, an unconscious Stiglitz in the bed on the opposite side of the room, and the catatonic Ellis just beside him. He buried his face in his hands and tried to breathe in deeply, searching for some inner strength that he knew he would need.

* * *

**Important note! (please read).**

This chapter was originally VERY different from this. It was very harsh and very brutal. But then I read all your lovely comments and reviews, and you made me feel like absolute shit. I felt SO GUILTY! The reason that there's a couple of things in this chapter that are quite far-fetched is that, because you all made me feel so wracked with guilt, I had to drastically change the chapter. In the original version, Stiglitz's survival makes a lot more sense, but because of the changes I made it a bit more 'miraculous'. The ending of chapter 25 was meant to be quite ambiguous, but instead I ended up writing something very misleading, and as a result I deceived you all, which was horrible and I'm sorry.

So i changed this chapter. I had done a very mean thing, and I realised that you all deserved much better then emotional cheap-shots. The end result is the same as the original version, but I chose to give Wicki and Ellis one last moment before he died. That wasn't originally the plan, but your comments broke my heart and so I added it in. When the entire fic is finished I might pop in the original at the end for you to see for yourselves what a mean bitch I had been.

So Wicki is gone. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't hate me:( He's a hero and he saved all of their lives, and so it's the only way he could go in the end. I'm so glad and proud that you all liked Wicki and Ellis together, and that I was able keep him a character that people really cared a lot about (as demonstrated by your lovely comments). Thank you so much guys, truly and sincerely.

But PLEASE don't hate me!


	27. The Show Must Go On

Hey guys! Thank you so much for your very kind reviews and comments regarding the last chapter. It wasn't easy to do, and I was eating myself up about it for ages, but thanks to your understanding and support I have the confidence to keep this thing going. Thank you so, so much.

**Disclaimer: **Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

* * *

_And how that explosion would hurt_

_Is not just an idea of horror but a flash of fine sweat_

_Over the skin surface, a bracing of nerves_

_For something that has already happened._

-Ted Hughes 'A Short Film'

Ellis became vaguely aware that wherever she was, it was dark. She was aware that there were aches and pains in her body, but right now it felt like she was separate from them. She was warm and comfortable, but she was awake. Wide-awake, even. She sat up slowly, noting that she was on a bed and getting used to the darkness. Some light filtered through the bottom of the door, but only a little. On the end of the bed Utivich was sitting down against the wall, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. She moved to try and get out of the bed, looking around at what else might be in the room. There was the shape of a man in the bed by the opposite wall, asleep and not moving. Pausing to stare, she gradually became able to make out his features.

It was Stiglitz. He was lying on his back, his head drooped down to one side, facing away from her. His breathing was so shallow that it almost looked like he wasn't breathing at all. If she could have seen his face, she had no doubt it would have looked peaceful. She kept staring at the sleeping man, not sure why. She knew who he was, but there was something else. There was something important. Eventually she was able to just about make out the bandage wrapped around his left shoulder. There was a small, dark stain in the centre of it. The ache in one side of her body began to return now that she was up. But there was now a large knot filling up her stomach as well.

Utivich groaned slightly, before opening his eyes and sitting up. He rubbed his face hard, trying to waken himself up. He had drifted off again, maybe only a few seconds, or maybe a couple of minutes. But he needed to stay awake. He felt sick and sad, but all he could do was think about sleeping. His tired body cried out for him to lie down on the softness and to just let go.

"Oh," he noticed Ellis now sitting up, staring blankly across the room. "You're up."

She didn't say anything. It was as if she couldn't even hear him. She just stared ahead of her, looking bewildered almost. She hadn't been out of it that long he realised. Whatever the doctor had given her, it had not been strong.

"Ellis?" he asked again.

"It wasn't a dream, then," she said quietly, turning to face him slowly. His eyes could see well enough in this darkness, but he couldn't make out her expression, or exactly what the tone of her voice was. But he knew what she meant.

"No," he shook his head, his own heart sinking as he said it. He swallowed hard.

She didn't reply. She looked back over at the sleeping Stiglitz. He still looked peaceful to her. Her face twisted in pain, and she covered her mouth, stifling whatever cry tried to escape. She fell back onto the pillow where she had lain only a few minutes ago, both her hands now covered her mouth.

Utivich panicked, afraid that she may hyperventilate again. He moved forward to try and help her. Would they be able to give her another dosage of whatever had calmed her down before? Would it even really help? But looking down at her, he realised she wasn't gasping for air. This time she was sobbing. Her hands covered her mouth to mute the sound, but her body shook and tears were running down her cheeks.

"Ellis…" he tried. He wanted to tell her it was okay, but that would be a lie. It would be worse than a lie. An insult, even. But what could he say? Wicki was a hero? He would have wanted it this way? He's gone to a better place? There wasn't much point in telling someone that the one they love was somewhere better, when all they really wanted was to have them there.

"I'm so sorry," was all he could finally muster.

"Just go," she told him, covering her whole face with her hands and tuning away from him. "Leave."

Even with him here, or even if they were all here, she would still feel so alone. She felt like curling up and dying, and running away all at once. All she could think of right now was of the one thing she could never have.

She just wanted him beside her. To see, too touch. His voice resounded in her head, repeating little phrases he had once said. She couldn't think of anything else. Remembering what it felt like to lie in his arms made her want to die just for one more chance to do it. She could remember everything about those moments. But she couldn't feel them. And she was never going to feel them again.

"I'll leave," Utivich replied quietly. "But only if you really want me too."

She didn't respond. She just lay on her side, feeling nothing but pain, inside and out. Her sobs and cries went un-muted now, but they were quiet and soft. She sounded like she would die herself. He felt useless, sitting next to her curled up form. There were no words or actions that would bring comfort to someone in this state. He didn't know what to do. After a few minutes he brought his hand forward and placed it gently on her shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was better than just sitting around like some sort of spectator. Maybe it would help a little? Maybe she wouldn't feel so adrift in her own pain if there was some sort of link to the shore?

Minutes passed. There was no sound except for the quiet sobs Ellis made as she lay curled up like a child. Stiglitz never even stirred in his sleep. Utivich occasionally squeezed Ellis' shoulder gently when her sobs sounded like they were getting worse, or rub her arm like you would a child's when she seemed to become quieter.

Without warning, she then stopped her sobbing. Who knew long they had been there? Her breathing steadied, as though fuelled by some new purpose. She stopped hugging her arms tightly to her body, and instead used them to push herself up. Utivich pulled his hand away, watching carefully, wary of what she might do. She wiped away any dampness from around her eyes.

"Where is he?" she murmured, turning to him now. Her voice was shaky and uncertain. "Can I see him?"

"I don't think it's such a good idea." Utivich replied. He hated to think of the bloodied corpse downstairs, dressed in the Nazi uniform he had fought against. She couldn't see that. It was better if she didn't remember him that way.

"Please," she pleaded.

"In a while," he promised, not sure whether he meant it or not. "When you're not so tired."

The expression on her face did not changed, although he could see the sinking disappointment beneath the surface. But she just nodded, accepting what he had said. She was mentally, emotionally and physically drained. It would be best if she waited a little while. Waited for a time when everything didn't feel so raw. Her mind and body was still braced for the impact of something that had already happened. She needed time before would be able to do anything again. She remained still, the tears running again, but without any strength to sob anymore.

"You're right," she finally told him. "I can't do anything right now."

"It's okay," he reassured her, still keeping his distance. "If there was ever time it was okay to be sad or upset, it's now. I mean, you and Wicki…"

"It's not…" she stopped him straight away. "It is, but… It's not as simple as 'me and him'." She didn't feel ready to say his name just yet.

"No, of course not," he replied, kicking himself for not keeping his mouth shut like he should have done.

"I'm on my own again," she whispered. She felt weak and pathetic, but at least Utivich knew her story. He would know what she meant. That same night she and Wicki had been alone for the first and only time, she and Utivich had set aside their differences and spoken about their lives. And so, it was better to have him here than it would be the others, even Omar. Laughter was the defence mechanism for Omar, and she didn't have the heart for that right now. And if it were Raine? Anything he'd say or do would be purely to ensure the success of the mission, however good his heart might be. He would only see the bigger picture. Utivich, like she had said, was the romantic.

"I didn't have anyone," she continued softly, still crying. "And then I met him… and now I'm alone again."

Utivich moved, slowly but impulsively, and hugged her. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to be completely alone in the world, even if his own family were like strangers sometimes. He couldn't imagine how it must feel, but he didn't want her to feel like that. He had always been a soft touch.

"No, it's not like that," he told her. "Wicki was one of us, and we'll make sure you're all right." To his surprise, she hugged him back. Burying her face in his shoulder, she sobbed again. She didn't move for a few minutes, crying again, and he was left once more with no idea what to do next as she clutched him tightly. Eventually she did pull away from him though, drying her eyes.

She looked across the room again. Stiglitz had moved in his sleep at some stage during her dark moment. His face now lay in their direction, looking as peaceful as she had expected it to. Underneath her pain, she felt deep resentment stir. He had lived and Wicki died. In what world was that fair? Who would have looked at Wicki's life, and then Stiglitz's life, and deemed the latter's more worth saving? Wicki had fought and died for his cause, and to end the pain and suffering he didn't want anyone else to feel. Stiglitz more than likely was doing this for the hell of it.

"I get why you guys never told anyone," Utivich told her, prompting her to look back at him. "It must have been tough."

"I knew it would make you all suspicious of me. And you'd think he was a fool. We had to keep the secret if we wanted to have your trust."

"I do trust you. I mean… we all do now. You didn't have to hide."

"We didn't know what else we could do," she shrugged, thinking back on letters and glances. "We weren't naïve, though. We were being foolish, but we weren't naïve about it."

"It's not foolish or naive," he told her. "With stuff like this, there's not a lot of choice involved."

"Experience?" she asked, lying back down on the pillow now staring up at the ceiling. Her head was beginning to ache slightly now from the crying.

"Oh yeah," he tried to laugh meekly. "My head has switched off a couple of times with girls."

"I told you," she replied kindly, if not distantly. "You're the romantic."

He gave a fake laugh, which ended up sounding more like a cough. Silence slipped back into the room. He didn't want to look at her anymore. He wasn't of any help, and he couldn't even pretend he was. All he could do was pity her, and she wouldn't want that. She was strong, and he knew it, even if she didn't. She had no will to go on, and it was just breaking his heart. He couldn't bear being in this room any longer.

"I want to go to sleep," she broke the silence, seeing the sadness come over him. He was trying to be sweet, but she couldn't bare anymore either. She needed to climb out of this dark hole, and quickly. What was the point in being lost to despair, when it could all just end tonight anyway? There was a great evil she had the chance to help destroy. And she would probably die trying in any case. She just had to push everything aside until tonight and it would be done.

Was it strange that it didn't feel so frightened of it now? Whether they failed or succeeded was cause to fear. If they failed, Hitler and his Reich would live. Was their anything more terrifying than that? And if they succeeded they would all die as well.

But she felt newly drained of every feeling, especially fear. No family, no friends and no lover anymore. Life was gradually fading out of her world, and she would finally fade away as well. The loneliness that she felt only pushed her to that same conclusion. There was no sense in Utivich trying to comfort her, or tell her she would be taken care of. She had no intention of staying around. The poor boy was just hurting himself at this stage. Wicki hadn't just been hers after all, he had been a Basterd first.

Utivich nodded, and stood up. He wondered if he should say something else. Should he hug her again? Instead he found himself just looking down at her, like a mute idiot. She wasn't even paying attention to him anymore. She was lying back and staring at the wall, far away in deep thought. But despite her lack of attention, he gave a last weak friendly smile before walking out the door. It would be best if she got some rest. Hadn't he said so himself?

As soon as he was out the door, closing it gently behind him, he moved quickly down the stairs. He had been useless to her, but he knew there was one thing he could for her, even she never knew he had done it. He walked with increasing speed towards the vet's office, bracing himself. When he reached the doorway he paused, hesitating out of fear or pain. But he pushed all such things out of his mind and put out his hand, turning the doorknob and entering in.

There he was, he who had been Wilhelm Wicki only two hours ago. He almost looked like he was just sleeping, passed out with tiredness from the night's events. He looked asleep, but his skin was unnaturally white. The uniform he wore was torn and dirty, blood covering most of the front of it, and some of his face as well.

Utivich moved forward slowly, taking a deep breath. Without giving it another thought he knelt down beside his fallen comrade, inspecting what it is he could do. Finally getting the nerve, he got up again and moved to the sink, filling a basin full of water and grabbing a few cloths. He supposed it didn't matter if the water was warm at all, it wasn't though Wicki would feel it, but he still made sure it was warm, perhaps out of affection. He then returned to his kneeling position beside the body of his friend, dampening a cloth and wiping the blood, sweat and dirt from his face.

"What are you doing?" a voice came from the doorway. Utivich looked up. Hirschberg was standing at the door, looking confused and, upon being reminded of Wicki's fate, almost frightened.

"He's in goddamn Nazi uniform," Utivich managed to croak out. He hadn't realised he was holding so much emotion inside until it came through his voice. His stomach churned in pain and, for some strange reason, guilt. He didn't understand why, but he felt as though he had wronged his friend somehow, that he had hurt him. He was in danger of losing all control and so he had to rein himself in, blinking back tears which only threatened him slightly.

"Go to the truck and get his stuff," Utivich ordered, with uncertain authority.

Hirschberg just nodded, understanding completely. He left immediately and headed straight for the truck parked outside where all their things still lay. Utivich turned his attention back to Wicki and finished cleaning his face. He then began to take off the enemy uniform he was lying in, unbuttoning the jacket. All they would have to change was the shirt, trousers and boots to cover the wounds and make him look as he did before. The rigor wouldn't have set it quite yet and so that at least would make things somewhat easier.

He hadn't been able to do anything before. But he would do whatever he could now. Not just for Ellis and Wicki, but for them all.

* * *

Ellis lay in the silent darkness, completely still, not even able to cry anymore. She couldn't get any lower. Her mind flitted between memories, former dreams and the lyrics to songs she didn't even sing anymore. She drifted back to that early morning haze she and her Wil had laid in, contented and happy, as though it was something more than fleeting fantasy. She could remember the smell of his skin, the sound of his breathing, the warm feeling of his arms around her, the taste of the kiss and how wonderful his rarely seen smile had looked in the half light. She hadn't known it at the time, but looking back now, she knew that was as perfect as a moment could get. It had been Heaven.

Heaven. Did it exist at all? She had no way of knowing, but she hoped so., especially now Life was so precious, and its loss was so tangible that it couldn't merely just vanish into thin air. Surely not. If Heaven, or whatever else there may be, lay just behind death, then she would be back in that moment once again. There was nothing to fear.

As she wallowed in these thoughts, she became increasingly aware that she was no longer alone. Turning, she looked over to Stiglitz once again. His eyes were closed and his expression was as calm as ever, but she was not fooled.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked him in German, no warmth in her voice.

"Longer than you think," he replied opening his eyes. He very slowly sat up, his shoulder throbbing once again and pain spiking up his back. He winced despite himself.

"It hurts?" she enquired coolly.

"It hurts," he confirmed. He couldn't move his left shoulder. It was not a good sign. The 'doctor' hadn't done a very good job, and Stiglitz was beginning to suffer real anxiety as to whether it was ever going to move again. Back trouble never really went away, he knew that much, he could live with that. If he couldn't move an arm though, he was in real trouble.

"Good," she said flatly. She turned away from him.

"If you're going to blame anyone for you lover's death," Stiglitz said sharply, in too much pain to remain the 'strong and silent' type at the moment. "Blame that stupid Englishman."

She didn't respond. She would not rise to his bait. He would get no reaction from her. He didn't deserve to live in Wicki's place. Wicki was by far the better man. She couldn't stand being in the same room as Stiglitz, but she would be damned if she was going to move on his account. He didn't seem to mind her quiet defiance either. He checked his bandage, pulling it off gingerly and looking upon the badly stitched up wound. Looking at it seemed to worsen his pain, his mind catching up with his body. He covered it up again.

"I knew all along," he informed her flatly. "About you and the Austrian."

"I don't care," she snapped.

"Don't be childish," he sneered. "It's not my fault. Your grudge against me is for living and I'm not sorry."

"Of course you're not sorry," she muttered, still turned away from him. "You don't care enough about anyone else."

"You can think whatever you like about me," he dismissed her assertion.

She rolled her eyes, reminding herself to remain calm. She was almost overcome with the desire to throw something at his head. Maybe another good knock would make it work properly. Maybe he would actually feel something for another human being. He clearly didn't care that a man he had worked with for years and lived so closely with was dead. He probably didn't even care that the mission was in danger either. Why on earth would he then care about the broken heart of some silly woman? She hated him.

"I didn't know your name, though," Stiglitz broke the silence, glancing over at her. "Rachel, isn't it?'

"Don't you dare use it," she seethed, her blood suddenly boiling inside her when he said it. "Don't you dare even speak to me."

"I'll do whatever I want," he shrugged as he adjusted the bandage some more. "Rachel."

"Of course you will!" she suddenly lost her temper. She reeled around on the bed, and before she knew it she was standing only inches away from him. "Hugo Stiglitz is so terrifying that no one can stop him from doing anything. Hugo Stiglitz would kill a man just for looking at him the wrong way. Hugo Stiglitz strikes fear into the hearts of everyone he meets. Well, Hugo Stiglitz, I'm not afraid of you. You're pathetic!"

Hugo did not move or respond to her tirade. She was a hysterical woman, no threat to him, even if he was injured. She just needed to get it out of her system, and he would not stoop to level of insults like other men. She wouldn't provoke him, even if a swift slap to her big mouth with undoubtedly silence her.

"You don't care about anyone," she spat at him, no longer caring if the whole house heard her roar. "You don't feel anything. The only thing you know how to do is hit out at someone else before they hit you. Do you remember Strasser? The first man I brought you to kill?"

He stiffened automatically.

"What did you want to kill him for? Because you didn't like being bossed around? Because he punished you for being disobedient? God forbid someone doesn't bow down at your feet!"

He clenched his jaw. She would say anything in this state. Did she think she would prove a point if she got him to act out?

"You don't care about anyone," she repeated. "You'll just kill anyone your pointed at. No questions and no compunctions. The life of another person means nothing to you, whether they're Gestapo, or a soldier, or even a friend. And that…" she hesitated suddenly."

"…That's what makes you a Nazi."

She didn't have time to react before her head slammed against the wall. She gasped in pain. He had thrown her against the wall before pinning her down by her throat to the bed, leaning over her with a glare made of ice. He didn't choke her, just held her down by her throat, threatening and dangerous.

"What a good German you are," she sneered, although her head spun.

"Are you trying to get killed?" he asked, his voice not even hinting at anger, or any other feeling at all.

"I have nothing better to do," she held her own against him, glaring right back. "But I know if you kill me right now, you will remember it forever. You'll remember it because you'll have proved me right. I'll die because, just like that bastard Strasser, I wasn't scared of you. And you, like Strasser, didn't like it when someone stood up to you."

"I am not like that man!" Stiglitz suddenly roared in her face.

"Life means nothing to you. That's what makes you a Nazi," she yelled right back. "Life is dispensable. There isn't even any thought put into it. My life has no value, does it? Am I even going to be the first Jew you kill?"

Stiglitz said nothing. He looked like he was seriously considering throttling the life out of her with his one good arm. She couldn't even feel the pain anymore. All she felt was his cold, calloused hand against the skin on her neck.

"Why can't you feel anything, Hugo?" she asked quietly. "What made you so angry and empty inside?"

He still remained unresponsive.

"I feel sorry for you," she gave a bitter laugh. "I feel pain, and you feel nothing, but I do feel sorry for you. Because you've never been happy either, and no one's ever cared about you. Maybe someone's tried, but they could only take so much. You're angry, but I bet moreover you're unhappy."

"At least I don't sob in the corner like a child," he hissed at her. "I don't cry because I can't handle being alone."

"You never had a choice," she told him. "You were always alone. That's why you can just kill someone, because you've never had anyone to lose. You don't know what it feels like someone you love. After all, who could love someone like you?"

His grip on her throat became crushing all of a sudden. His fist. like a vice around her airway clamped down. and began to squeeze the life from her. She grabbed his wrist out of instinct and tried to pull it off, only to realise she would never be able to do to so. His eyes showed nothing but anger, and black spots began to cloud her vision as air and life slipped away.

He watched as her face reddened just above his hand. Stupid fucking bitch. How dare she preach at him. No one told him what to do. What had she thought she would achieve in angering him? Did she have a death wish now just because her lover was gone?

It hit him like a ton of bricks. She did want to die because Wicki was gone. It didn't matter what happened to her anymore, because she thought life wasn't worth living. Kino and everything else had lost meaning for her. That was the strength of her feeling, and he had begun choking her because he knew he would feel nothing. He thought he would feel nothing.

He let go suddenly, and she let out an almighty gasp, her body desperate for air. Her hands went to her throat, as if they could help it get more precious oxygen into it. He moved away from her, sitting back down on the bed he had occupied only minutes ago. He wasn't angry anymore. Instead he felt horrified. She had called him a Nazi, and she had been right. She had compared him to Strasser and she had been right.

His entire life he had never taken no for an answer. If he wanted something, he took it. If someone crossed him, he would punish them. He looked out for himself, and himself alone, believing firmly that it was survival of the fittest and that he was above the unnecessary attachments people had for each other. It was always about him, always so sure, so uncompromising. He was the same self-serving, ignorant man that Strasser had been. He was just as ruthless and cruel as the Gestapo. He was a Nazi.

He felt sick to his stomach.

Ellis tried to sit up, but ended up hunched over to one side, still willing her throat take in air. She cough and spluttered, tears appearing again in her eyes. Stiglitz remained sitting absolutely still, transfixed in horror. He had never been so unsure in his life.

She lay crumpled on the bed, not moving, except for her deep, laboured breathing. Her body had no strength or will to stay awake anymore. Her eyes closed and she let her consciousness slip away.

Stiglitz stood up again and hurried out of the room, grabbing his shirt from the end of the bed and flinging it on without care. He had no idea where he could go, just trying to escape what it was already to late to run from. He didn't like slipping from the mental to the emotional, in fact he had avoided the emotional like a plague all his life. The only emotion he had ever acknowledged was his anger. But his anger made him feel like a wounded animal right now. It felt like weakness. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it was starting to hurt.

He moved like lightning down the hallway, passing the surgery without even a second glance. The door of the office was open though. He stopped instinctively. Looking through the door, he saw Wicki, or at least what was left of him. Hirschberg, the one with the childish face, was pulling down the sleeves of the pullover Wicki had always worn, and making sure his shirt was tucked in neatly. The Little Man, Utivich, was using a cloth to wipe away the blood matted in Wicki's hair.

He didn't look like a soldier's corpse anymore. He looked more like the man he had always been. The two friends who worked on him treated him with reverence and care, as though they didn't want to disturb him. They wanted him to be the Wicki they remembered, even if that man was now long gone.

They only noticed Stiglitz when he stepped into the room with them. They both stopped and looked up at him, as though they expected to be chastised for being so sentimental. Would he make some smart remark? Would he smirk dismissively at their attempts to make Wicki look better? To their surprise he did neither. He walked in slowly, looking unsure of himself for once. Looking down at the dead Basterd, he sighed. Neither Hirschberg or Utivich moved, uncertain what Stiglitz was going to do.

"His boots?" Stiglitz finally asked.

"The corner," Hirschberg replied without even thinking about it.

Stiglitz didn't respond, except by going over to the corner and fetching the boots. He walked back over and knelt down alongside the others. This wasn't going to be the easiest thing to do with one arm at the moment, but he was resolved to do it. One gesture. Just one gesture to prove to himself she was wrong about him.

_This is the Hour of Lead -_

_Remembered, if outlived,_

_As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -_

_First -Chill -then Stupor -then the letting go -_

-Emily Dickinson 'After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes'

* * *

Phew, that was not easy to do at all. This chapter was very emotional for me and so it did take me a bit longer to finish. Its all very dark and depressing at the moment, and I will admit things are going a bit slow, but the next few chapters are going to pick up quite a lot because, as you know, we're going to the movies. This chapter is very important in setting up the characters for the chapters ahead though.

Sorry about the depressing poetry, but I'm a big poetry fan and I think the two extracts here describe the emotions of this situation a whole lot better than I ever could. It realise sticking them in is a bit pretentious, but I do think they're relevant and very beautiful. And yes, I miss Wicki too:(

Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again sincerely for your support and comments, you guys are making this all the more worthwhile for me:)


	28. Pictures speak a thousand words

Hi guys! Sorry about the delay in this chapter, but my computer and I have been having difficulties. We're getting help, so hopefully we'll be able to get through this and become happy together again, but its a day by day thing. (Okay, I've clearly gone mad. Ignore me). On another note, many thanks to Bar who provided the Dutch translations I needed. Absolute star, that girl:-)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, you should ask Tarantino about that.

* * *

Raine returned an hour and a half later, along with Omar and Donny, and of course the limping Bridget von Hammersmark. Their suits had been fitted and so they could count themselves officially as the guests of Germany's most celebrated actress. She hadn't skipped out on the bill either, ensuring that the men who would be seen with her were dressed in the best suits they had ever seen in their lives. A half-rate suit would look out of place anyway. After all, this was the biggest event on the Nazi social calendar. There was no excuse for sloppy dressing.

The vet's house was almost deathly quiet, but Raine knew his men were at their posts. Zimmerman and Sakowitz in their usual double act were in the attic, keeping a weather eye out for any German's getting too close for comfort to their temporary sanctuary. Kagan, who was naturally the affable type, was keeping an eye on the vet and his family, just in case they felt like doing something that could lead to unfortunate circumstances for them all. Utivich was probably still upstairs with Stiglitz and Ellis as well. Hirschberg would be on gun duty, meaning; making sure no one touched their toys.

"Omar," Raine turned to the smaller man in their group. "Take the actress to the lounge, and give her more of them pills she likes so much."

"Still chivalrous," she replied sarcastically, limping forward and refusing Omar's help. She was tired, in pain and sick of their attitude towards her. It wasn't her fault that stupid Englishman had blown their cover. She expected some scepticism, naturally, but the undisguised disdain was making it harder and harder for her to remain motivated. At least they had managed to get her leg set in a cast, a uniquely high-heeled one too. It would certainly be a conversation starter, if anyone believed the mountain-climbing excuse. If not, they would all probably think she just fell down the stairs while drunk, or her high heels had gotten the better of her.

"Yeah," Raine shrugged, choosing to continue ignoring her whining. "Best you get a little sleep while we pack up for the mission. We'll even grab you a little extra morphine."

"Good," she replied flatly, hobbling down the hallway with as much dignity as she could muster.

"All right then," Donny chimed, dropping three boxes of carefully tailored suits to the floor. "Let's get this show on the road. I'll get the boys."

"Boy, would you just relax," Raine sighed. Donny had been a ball of energy since von Hammersmark had mentioned the 'F' word earlier on. The boy wanted this so bad he could taste it. Hardly a man on this team could match Donny's enthusiasm for their work. He was sloppy with scalps and worse with subtlety, but no one enjoyed the job more than Donny. For him, this was a holy war, and now, he had the chance to end it. The Führer was going to be his.

"In case you forgot," Raine reminded him. "We've got a man to bury."

That knocked the wind right out of Donny's sails. He had forgotten that part. How could he have blank on the biggest price they had to pay to be able to do this?

"Sorry," he replied guiltily, his former glee now gone.

"You didn't mean nothin' by it," Raine excused him. It was true, Donny wasn't heartless, he was just a little reckless sometimes. "Let's get this over and done with."

It would be best if they did this quickly and quietly. It was bad enough they had to bury Wicki, one of their own. He didn't want to unnerve them any further. They needed to be thinking about the deaths of their enemies, not what already had and may yet happen again to them. Wicki wouldn't have wanted a big fuss anyway. He would just want them to get results.

"Omar, you get Ellis," Raine instructed. "Bring her to us. And while you're at it grab Utivich and get Zimmerman from upstairs. Tell 'em to find a nice spot and dig deep. We don't…" He hated having to say it. "We don't want anyone finding him."

Omar just nodded, knowing it was best to keep his mouth shut and do as he was told. He made his way quickly up the stairs. Donny followed Raine down the hallway to where their friend lay. Donny's manic energy was gone, leaving him shame-faced instead, keeping his head down. They both strengthened their resolve to get it done. There was no choice, they just had to do it. They walked to the office, where Raine promptly stopped dead. Donny nearly bumped into him, not noticing he had stop walking.

On the floor of the office Wicki lay just as he had been when they left him. He was still lying there, but now he looked… good. He had been cleaned up of any blood and dirt, and he was no longer wearing a ruined Nazi uniform, but the civilian clothes he had worn previously as they hunted down Germans in the French countryside. He looked like he always had. It almost made Raine smile. Good old Wicki. He looked up and saw Hirschberg, Utivich and Stiglitz standing there, discarding of the uniform and cleaning themselves up. They looked up at Raine and Donny then.

Utivich felt apprehensive. He wasn't supposed to abandon his post. That was one of Raine's biggest peeves; people who weren't where they were supposed to be. He was meant to stay with Ellis to make sure she was okay, or at the very least still alive. He knew Hirschberg probably felt the same. If anyone was going to get into trouble it would be the one who left their weapons alone. At least he had concealed them first.

"You did this?" Raine asked, looking back down at Wicki.

"It was my idea," Utivich told him straight away, taking responsibility. "Hirschberg and Stiglitz just came in to help."

"This true?" he asked the other two.

"Yes, sir," Hirschberg replied. Stiglitz merely nodded, holding his wounded arm again.

"Good job," Raine nodded, looking back at Utivich now. Utivich felt relief washing over him. Raine looked at him with understanding, maybe even appreciation. He saw something in Raine's eyes that he had very seldom seen directed at him. Admiration.

* * *

Minutes later the men were all gone, busying themselves with preparations and with digging. Ellis stood outside the door of the vet's office, trying to work up the courage to go inside. Raine had told her she could have a few moments alone if she wanted to, and she had said yes. Now however, she was beginning to doubt if she would be able to after all. She stood there for a few moments, absolutely still, unable to bring herself to walk or even look inside the room. Her muscles froze as if of their own accord. She knew what was in that room and she knew it was real. But she couldn't see it and she couldn't feel it, and for this brief moment she could pretend it wasn't there. Maybe it wasn't even real.

But no, it was real. It was real, and she couldn't be afraid of it. She turned and walked in, every part of her body fighting her and yet still straining forward.

There he was on the floor. He looked serene. There was no worry or pain etched on his expression, no evidence of how he left this world at all in fact. They had cleaned him up. For a moment she just stared at him, her breath almost catching in her chest. Slowly she moved closer and knelt down, her hands shaking. Looking down at him, she was surprised that pain didn't overwhelm her again. No, seeing his face again sent a surge of the feeling she had felt earlier that night when he had said he loved her. It wasn't sorrow that filled her, but affection for him.

He really was so handsome, especially when he wasn't in that uniform. Her Wil.

Reaching out her hand, she touched his face. It felt like ice. She pulled back immediately. Horrified. No, this wasn't her Wil. This was just a beautiful lie. Just the empty shell of what she had really loved. Hot tears filled her eyes and spilled out before she could stop them. Once again she buried her face in her hands. Minutes passed as she felt the same despair all over again, the loss so raw and painful.

Then after a few minutes, she stopped. Thinking back to the truck and their final moment together she had remembered something.

"_My coat is somewhere… In it… it's for you…"_

His coat was lying in the corner in a pile with other clothes and items. Wicki had said there was something for her in that coat, and she knew she had to find it. Moving towards the coat, she pulled it out from the pile and began to search its pockets. At first she found nothing, his pockets completely empty except for a smaller knife he had kept just in case. Surely that hadn't been what he meant?

Standing up again, she pulled the coat up with her, straightening it out. She saw that their was another, concealed pocket on the inside of the coat. Her heart skipped a beat. She reached into the pocket, and sure enough she felt something within. A letter or a note perhaps?

Slowly, she pulled out an old worn envelope. The paper was yellowing and it wasn't sealed shut, it was almost overflowing. Taking a deep breath, she put down the coat and sat down on the floor again, only inches from where he lay. She then began to pull out the contents of the envelope.

The envelope held much more than she had expected it to. Inside there was photographs, notes and all manner of sentimental things. She collected up the pictures and looked carefully through them. Wicki was in the first, clearly a lot younger than he was now. He was standing in what seemed like a garden next to a shorter, older man. They both gave friendly smiles. _His father, _she realised. She moved through the small pile of photos and saw they were all pretty much the same. His father was in several, as well as the woman she presumed was his mother and two younger women she believed to be his sisters. They were both young and so pretty, grinning beside their brother who clearly did not feel comfortable with having his photo taken. There was another picture as well, the final one in fact. It was of Wicki and a few men she didn't recognise. Some friends, perhaps? The pictures each brought a smile to her face. This was a Wicki before any war or violence or suffering. It was his smile in happier times, unburdened by trouble or strife.

She then looked at the notes that now dotted the floor around her. They were extracts taken from letters he had received over the years. Just certain lines and paragraphs he had wanted to keep with him wherever he went.

_America must be nice, but you can't get mama's cooking over there, can you?_

_Maybe you were right to leave, Wil. Home isn't home anymore. Everything's changing, and everyone else is changing too. _

_We're thinking of you every day, son. And we miss you. But how exciting to think that you now live in such a big and wonderful country. I truly believe any good man can become anything he aspires to be in America. _

The different handwriting on each scrap of paper warmed her heart. His family had loved him so much, and it was clear from the way he held on to their keepsakes that he had loved them all as well. His heart was heavy the same way hers had always been. They really were twin spirits. How she wished she could have known him in those happier times. She wanted to meet these attractive sisters, and to see his gentle mother or fretting father. What she would have given at that moment to ask them questions about him, or to even ask him to talk about them. They were so much more than images in photographs. They were the elusive and distant happiness that she had almost forgotten existed.

There was life, and there was hope.

Then she recognised her handwriting amongst the papers. He had kept something of her letters too. All those clandestine letters they had given each other in the early days of their relationship, beginning timidly before becoming so much stronger. She could feel the beat of heart slowing as she picked some of the scraps up and began to read them.

_You're right, I do get my fair share of looks. But no one looks at me like you do, and there is no one else I'd rather look at._

She laughed despite herself. She remembered writing that. He had made some smart remark about how she must dress for her nightclub lifestyle, something about decency, and she had quipped back. It had been a funny moment in their letters, more flirty than romantic, but he had kept it nonetheless. It was one of things that was meant to get a laugh, but instead just revealed more than she had intended. It had meant something to him and so he had kept it, and it just made her miss him more.

She began pulling the papers and pictures all together again into a pile, carefully and stealing one last look at them. She was glad to have seen these things, but she was puzzled as to why he had wanted her to see them. Yes, they had brought a smile to her face, but was it just to prove that he cared enough about her to keep her notes amongst his family tokens? As she prepared to put the precious souvenirs back where she found them, she couldn't help but notice that the pile was not as thick as she remembered it being when she found it. Something was missing.

Looking around, she finally spotted what had been missing. It had fallen farther than the others when she had spread everything across the floor. Just a few pages folded together. It wasn't extracts from letters, or photos, this was a fully formed letter in its own right. Apprehension took hold of her once again. Slowly, she reached out her hand and picked it up. Her mouth felt dry and her heartbeat became the loudest sound she could hear. She brought it closer to her face and opened it.

_Dear Rachel,_

Her body stiffened. Oh no…

_I know this letter will be too little too late, but it's all that I can offer you now. You're probably upset and angry with me, and I'm sorry. Believe me, I really am sorry. But I know you understand why I'm doing what I'm doing. That's thing about you, Rachel, if anyone understands me anymore it's you. I'm just sorry for whatever pain I caused you. It was the last thing I wanted, and I will never forgive myself for it. _

_But this letter isn't about regret, because I don't regret this, and above everything I don't regret my time with you. We both knew that this was never going to have a fairytale ending, but we were foolish enough to give it a go, and I am so glad we did. Rachel, I had nobody left in this world and nothing worth holding onto. There was no joy, no pain, no anger. I existed and that was about it. I had nothing left, and I had let myself become nothing. But then, you just sauntered into my life, wearing a red dress no less, and I didn't feel like nothing anymore. There was something in my life that wasn't dark or broken. I had never realised how having no one would affect me until I had someone in my life again. Love is a strange thing, isn't it? It makes everything else in life feel fuller. I hope by the time you read this I have told you that I love you, because I do. If I haven't told you, then I'm a coward, and I don't deserve any love you might have for me._

_I do love you, but I won't go on too much about that (we're both far too proud, aren't we?). All I will say is that you were the only truly good thing about this time and place. You gave me back what I thought was gone forever. I thought anything good was dead at this stage, and that we could just become as bad as the Nazis in order to survive. But there is good out there, I know that now. And that's why you can't just roll over and give up. I know there are times when that's all you want to, just to have no pain anymore. But I know you, Rachel. If anyone can live through this, it will be you. You deserve to be alive, and you deserve to be happy. Don't let whatever happens to me ruin your life. There is a life out there for you, so please don't give up on that. _

_But now, I have one favour to ask you, if you want to do it. Doubtless when you found this letter you found some pictures and notes. Yes, that is my family. My mother, Sharon, my father, Wilhelm, and my sisters, Arianne and Hanna. These scraps are all I have of my old life. These are the people I loved, and these pictures and notes are all that's left of them. When I'm gone their memory will be gone forever. There will be no one left to remember them. Please keep them with you, even just in the box in the back of a cupboard or in an attic. Just keep them and remember their names. Let the memory live just a little bit longer. _

_Please remember, whether I'm there or not, I'm yours forever._

_Wil._

An uncomfortable feeling rose in her chest, and she realised she had stopped breathing while reading the letter, so wrapt in it. She relaxed and allowed herself to take deep, steady breaths as she closed her eyes. She had expected her mind to race when she first picked up the letter. She had reckoned that emotion and thought would consume her just like it did before. But it didn't. Instead she felt calm and peaceful. There was some solace now. Yes, the pain was still a dull ache in her heart, but now there was strength building behind it to push her forward.

"I promise," she whispered, unsure if she was speaking to herself or to the man who may not be able to hear her at all. "I'll be with there soon. But these memories will not die."

* * *

Landa stepped gingerly down the stair, not wanting to touch the rusty banister in his way down. This place might have been a popular tavern, but it certainly was no high-class establishment. But however bad it might have looked before, it looked much worse now. The evidence of the night's carnage was littered all over the floor. German bodies were scattered around like the discarded toys of a spoilt child. Blood and liquor had been spilled everywhere, and even covered some of the walls. Bullets were embedded in just about every surface imaginable and the air felt stale with the scent of alcohol, gunpowder and death.

"They often say, Hermann," Landa addressed his long-serving adjutant as he stepped towards the centre of the ruined tavern to inspect the damage. "That a night's festivities can be measured in terms of the chaos left behind." He opened his arms then, gesturing grandly to the bodies and ruined room around him.

"I think then it is safe to say," he smiled. "That last night was quite the party."

Hermann just gave a meek laugh and a nod, clearly not comfortable with his superior's sense of humour considering the amount of dead German soldiers surrounding him. It didn't seem like the appropriate time for levity. But he knew Landa, and this was his bread and butter.

"But I digress," Landa excused himself. A group of German soldiers had just been killed, but quite frankly he could hardly have been happier. He loved being a detective, making sense of chaos and seeing beyond what others could see. For the last few weeks though he had been stuck in his role as Head of Security for Goebbels' film premiere, which left with him with little time to concentrate on his true vocation. But a massacre like this was too big for the Nazis to avoid using his services. The premiere was tonight and this would have to be dealt with quickly and quietly. No one was to know.

"It is time for us to use our heads, Hermann," Landa informed the adjutant once more. "As we can see here, a group of celebrating soldiers have been violently killed. That much is obvious straight away. But we have to contemplate everything but the violence. We have to see beyond it. It's not so much a case of how and why, but a case of whom, dear Hermann. What would you say?"

Hermann was taken aback. Hans Landa had never asked him for his opinion in anything. In fact, he barely got to speak at all. Landa much preferred talking at him rather than to him. It was his job to fetch the files or the coffee, or to make sure that Landa was prepared for anything wherever he went. He was little more than a glorified manservant.

"Me, sir?" he asked timidly. Landa merely nodded. He was going to let him speak. After all, what harm could it do? It might even be rather entertaining to watch him trying to deduce what happened for himself.

"Well…" Hermann tried, looking around and assessing the scene. "I, um… I believe this could be the work of… of the Basterds, sir."

"Interesting," Landa nodded slowly, as though he was seriously considering what Hermann said. "How so?"

"The violence of the attack, sir," Hermann stammered, only feeling more nervous as he had to justify his response to Landa's question. He wasn't a detective. And even if he had been, he still wouldn't be in any way close to Landa's brilliance. He was just an errand boy in essence. How was he supposed to know what went on?

"Well, it certainly was violent," Landa conceded, beginning to walk around the room. "But in terms of the 'Basterds', as you enlisted men so call them, this seems a little out of character."

"Consider this," Landa continued, no longer looking at Hermann, but instead at the dead around him. "These deaths were clearly part of a shoot out situation, and while that is not out of the Basterds' area of expertise, there has been no mutilation, and there is no lone disfigured survivor. Rather lazy for the Basterds, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, sir," Hermann replied, embarrassed. In truth, the Basterds theory had just been the first thing to pop into his head. He hadn't put any real thought into it. He just knew that the Basterds scared him more than anything. He had seen the evidence of their actions on every crime scene Landa dragged him to.

"Perhaps it was the Resistance, then?"

"Ah, but Hermann, you were right the first time," Landa laughed teasingly. The young man just looked at him, completely bewildered.

"While this was quick and, relatively, clean," Landa pressed on, moving towards his adjutant. "You seem to have avoided looking at one thing in particular."

Landa moved towards the table closest to the stair, and slapped his hand roughly down on the remains of Gestapo officer Dieter Hellstrom. The knife in the back Hellstrom's head protruded gruesomely. Hermann had to force back a retch. His subconscious had mercifully not registered this image before him, trying to preserve him from the sight of it by calling his gaze elsewhere. But there it was, right in front of him.

"Particularly nasty, don't you think?" Landa shrugged as though it was nothing. "Very 'Basterd' like, no? In fact, I'll bet you that I can identify this knife as soon as I pull it out."

Without waiting for a response, he yanked it from Hellstrom's skull. The head was lifted a few inches limply , before smacking back down on the table with a dreadful thud. Landa then pulled out a small handkerchief and wiped down the blade of the knife. As he expected the blade had a particular slogan emblazoned across it.

_My honour is loyalty._

"This is the knife of one Hugo Stiglitz," Landa proudly declared. "Nasty character. No doubt you've heard of him. He stole this from one of the Gestapo he killed that night of his little misadventure. The slogan is common, as I'm sure you'll know, among Gestapo officers. But the slogan here is tilted ever so slightly to the end, which is very distinct, and the hilt still bears the initials of its original owner."

"So it was the Basterds?"

"It was the Basterds."

Landa was grinning from ear to ear. If there was one group he enjoyed hunting more than anything else, it was these elusive Americans. Strange how Americans had no talent for subtlety and yet they had managed to avoid nearly all detection and remain free all this time. But he was called the Jew Hunter for a reason, and at the end of the day, these men were just Jews. Vicious and spiteful though they were, the weak nature of their race would mean their downfall. Jews were crafty, but they were not that intelligent.

"But why, Hermann?" Landa challenged him again. "Why this tavern? Why this town? As we know, they prefer to attack from the safety of tress and ditches. What makes this special for them?"

"I…" Hermann attempted to answer. He stopped himself, though. Landa liked to tease and toy with people, but he would just have to find Hermann boring, because Hermann was not going to play along. "…I don't know, sir."

_You know your place well enough, don't you? Good boy._

"They wanted something specific," Landa informed him. "They have a plan of some sort. It's not just a bit of violent fun they are after. But what could it be? What could it be?"

Landa's face did not seem to register the gravity of their situation at all. Instead it was the calm, and not unamused, mask it usually was in these circumstances. He never cared much about the things he saw, death or mayhem, to him these images were just jigsaw pieces. He strolled casually around the bar, as though he was inspecting exhibits in a museum or an art gallery. Amongst the wreckage of this fine establishment lay an almost sacred truth, an elusive prize to be won. He would find it. He wasn't worried.

First there was the man lying slumped against the bar. He was dressed as a Nazi officer, but it was unlikely that was the truth. He was lying facing the larger group, and the bullet wounds in his thighs ominously matched the injuries of Hellstrom. Some sort out terrible standoff no doubt. He didn't match any of the detailed descriptions of the Basterds which Landa had procured either. This made it highly likely then that he was in fact, not a Basterd as well as not a Nazi. A foreign operative. Stiglitz had then obviously dispatched Hellstrom rather brutally. The shoot out had then ensued no doubt once their cover was blown. But the Basterds had escaped as usual like thieves in the night.

As he walked around the table where he surmised the Basterds had sat, his eyes wandered to the floor. Beneath an overturned chair something glinted back at him in the light. He reached down and picked it up carefully. It was a golden locket, a diamond shape and rather plain, but a pretty enough trinket nonetheless. Had a woman been in their company as well? He opened it up and looked carefully at the smiling faces contained within. They were obviously Jews. The presumed father in the picture looked particularly Jewish in fact. Perhaps this was the belonging of one of the Basterds? A token of family maybe?

With little care, he pulled the pictures out of the locket in order to inspect it further. Something like this could very easily be more than it appeared. And just as he had suspected, there was writing contained within, as there usually was with lockets. One tender message engraved in the tiniest font on either side.

_Voor onze lieve dochter en grote zus _

_We houden van je_

He didn't know what it said exactly, but he recognised the language. It was in Dutch. He began to laugh quietly to himself. The chuckle unnerved Hermann even more. If Landa found something amusing, then more than likely it was deeply unpleasant for someone else. Landa continued ignoring him, grinning happily at the locket in his hands.

Dutch and with the Basterds. This could only be the locket of none other than his favourite Resistance spy, Ellis de Vries. So she had been here as well, no doubt planning some special 'surprise' for her performance tonight. But that wasn't all. Her secret was out now. At long last he knew the dirty little secret she had tried to hide. This beautiful but deadly Mata Hari was nothing but another conniving Jew slut. No self-respecting young woman would have gotten herself in such mess unless she was a vengeful, wicked Jewish harpy.

"Oh, I've got you now," he whispered gently to the locket, as though she was there in person, or could even hear him. He gave it a little kiss, as if to thank it for leading him to her true identity, before carefully returning the photographs back to their original places.

"What fun I'm going to have."

"Sir?" Hermann called over. In Landa's jubilant reverie he had failed to notice Hermann turn away from him. He had tried to busy himself by doing something helpful instead of being intimidated by his employer. In the process he had come across something that he though might interest Landa.

"What is it?" the detective asked, before turning around to face the other man. He quickly pocketed his new evidence.

"Shoes, sir. Women's shoes"

Landa walked over and sure enough Hermann handed him a pair of very expensive and fashionable looking women's shoes, too expensive for the kind of woman Ellis was pretending to be. Even if the Resistance was able to gather up such vast sums of money, he doubted very much they would spend it on haut couture. No, they were not Ellis', and they weren't the dead barmaid's, and they certainly weren't belonging to the rather burly soldier woman. There had been another woman in this place.

And just then by chance, as though answers were falling from the sky, he saw the napkin on the floor. It was dirty and bloodied, but across it there was definitely writing. And below whatever trite message had been scrawled, there lay the large and unmistakeable autograph of none other than Bridget von Hammersmark.

Tonight was going to be an extra special night indeed.

* * *

Ronnie woke up suddenly, rattled by a bad dream that she immediately forgot, but it still frightened her somehow. Next to her, Franken didn't even stir in his sleep. Her nights were becoming increasingly like this. Without making a sound she pulled off her covers and climbed out of the bed. Moments later she was in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the path and sobbing like a child.

Franken couldn't see or know of any of this. He liked Ronnie because she was fun and easy. If he saw her with dark circles around her eyes and her face puffy and red from crying, he would be disgusted and she would be gone. During the days she would giggle and laugh, but at night she couldn't hide the despair she felt anymore. She felt trapped. And there was nowhere left for her to run.

"I want to go home," she cried to herself, confessing to no one in the middle of the night. "I just want to go home."

But there wasn't a home to go to anymore. Her family wouldn't want her back, and anyone who undoubtedly would hear of her dalliances with the Nazis would want her dead. She couldn't go home.

At the start it had all been so simple. When her family had lost everything, she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't end up like her elder sister; a beautiful girl forced to beg, borrow and steal on street corners just to afford somewhere to sleep and bread to eat. She wasn't going to be some back alley prostitute. And so when he had cast his eye on her, she just went with the flow. He gave her everything she could possibly want, a job, somewhere nice to live, gifts galore. All she had to so was smile and be funny, and of course, provide him with distraction. She had known in her heart that what she was doing was wrong. She wasn't completely stupid. The Germans had invaded her country, and stolen and killed as they pleased. But whatever reservations might have been there, she had just pushed them aside.

She hated herself for it. She was ashamed of herself for it. But it was too late now, she was marked a Nazi's woman and when they couldn't get Franken's blood they would come for hers. And Franken was hardly worth it. He was a fat, lazy manipulative man, and she had come to hate him more than anyone else in the world. Behind her smiles and kisses, there was nothing but a dead feeling. She felt sick whenever he came near her now. But she was trapped. If Franken wasn't there she had no one. None of the German women liked her, and she had made no Parisian friends either. The only friend she could think of now was Ellis. The war was lost and they would all be destroyed in its wake.

But maybe Ellis was the answer? If they got out of here and just ran for their lives then maybe they would be all right. They could go to somewhere no one knew them and have a fresh start. Everyone was running away these days, who would really care about two women?

* * *

Thank you all so so sooooo much for your lovely comments and reviews, including one which seriously got me thinking. Your support means a lot and it keeps me motivated not only to keep writing, but to try and do a good job too!

The next chapter may take a while to get up, because I have course work which I have to FORCE myself to do. My condition is once its done, I can write the next chapter. Definitely by mid-week anyway:)


	29. Forget to Remember

Hello everyone! I know its been a while, and I promised it would be a lot sooner, but I've been rather swamped with work. I'm really, really sorry. This chapter is quite long, even for me, and I've crow-barred a lot of information in it. There's a lot of stuff going on but hopefully it isn't too muddled and all over the place. Feel free to let me know if you think it is.

**Disclaimer: **No money, no fun**:( **

* * *

The city was bright that morning. The sun shone clearly, and with forgotten warmth. It felt like so many past Parisian summer days, before the Occupation… before the war. On certain streets it was even possible to forget that there was an occupying force in the city at all. There was nothing to suggest pain and sadness, or that danger lurked around every corner. It was a beautiful day. A glorious day.

Hans Akkermans stepped of the train and onto the same platform Ellis had first walked on when she had arrived in Paris months ago. Without wasting any time he lit up a cigarette, and took one long inhalation. The sun shone brightly through the glass panels on the roof. He shielded his eyes before putting his hat on again. The warm weather was clearly lifting everyone's spirits anyway. Everyone except Hans that was. He had a job to do here, and he hadn't travelled all the way from the Netherlands for the weather. He was here to find one person. Ellis de Vries.

She was one of the Resistance's most undercover spies, and if there was one thing Hans had learned, it was to keep an especially close eye on those deep undercover. They had worked together many times, often at very close proximity, but she had been in France for months now and her updates had become less and less frequent. There was something up and he did not like it one bit. He more than most understood the nature of secrets, and Ellis was hiding something. And he had a sneaking suspicion exactly what that secret might be.

She had the book; that he knew for sure. That little black book sent to her by the notary, Mr Smaal, was a very dangerous weapon in itself. Before Smaal had been 'taken care of' he had been sure to send it to her. But Hans knew what was in that book, and he didn't think Ellis was going to like it. It was for her own good that she didn't find that out for herself. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

But Paris was not a small city, and he was going to have to search for her. The place she had been working was closed now, and so there would be no point in looking there. But perhaps her former co-workers would know where she was. It wouldn't be easy to get the information, but Hans had no hesitations about doing what needed to be done. Before the week was out Ellis would be leaving with him, one way or another.

Ellis de Vries. What messes she managed to get herself into. Maybe it was too late? Maybe she had already decoded the book? If so, then his options would be very limited. He didn't like to think about it though. He liked Ellis. She was beautiful and she didn't shirk away from doing what needed to be done. Those were just some of the reasons he had been attracted to her in the first place. It was a pity her affections were more fickle than his. But that was just the way of women, he supposed. Although it seemed almost masculine how she had moved into Müntze's arms straight after she had been in his. Heartless, even.

But he was not immune to a beautiful face, especially one attached to the charm of Ellis de Vries. She was going to get one chance. If she messed it up, then it would be very unfortunate for both of them.

* * *

The journey back to Paris had taken just over two hours. It would have been shorter if it had not been for Raine's insistence on avoiding every main road in favour of the badly kept back roads. They couldn't afford to be stopped and questioned, or to have any further delays. The ride was bumpy and unpleasant, but no one was complaining. No even really spoke the entire time. Bridget sat in the front alongside Raine and Omar, while the others all stayed in the back of the truck. Raine had known better than to leave the actress alone with men who firmly believed she was the cause of their friend's death.

The finally parked in the square where they always parked. The same abandoned place where Ellis had first led the unfortunate Strasser to the Basterds, and their secret back door into the city. This was probably going to be their last chance to use it. It had been decided before they had left the doctor and his family (all appropriately locked up in their bedrooms) that Ellis' apartment would be where they got ready for tonight. It would also serve as the base from which the others awaited the all clear to head for the Allied/French border. Omar, Donny and Raine would be the ones to accompany Bridget to the premiere. Kagan, Sakowitz, Hirschberg and Zimmerman would stay at the apartment with the radio equipment and watch the fireworks from a safe distance. Stiglitz would remain with them to allow him some time to recuperate from his injuries.

Utivich had been given the task of surveillance, which in this case consisted of watching the events a short distance away from the safety of their truck. His task was to make sure no one got out alive from that building, and to be the getaway car if anything went awry. The fact that he had been given this task troubled him. He had only very recently learned how to drive at all, and purely out of necessity. He was by no means any good at it either. But when he had asked Raine about whether he thought it was good idea, Raine had made his point simply. Utivich was the smartest of the group. He was sharp and observant, and his instincts were good too. If anyone was going to keep an eye on the proceedings, it was him. And besides, despite being the smallest amongst them, he had never been one to panic. In a time of crisis, he would keep a clear head and act rationally.

Utivich decided against mentioning how he had panicked before and fluffed his German act in front of Ellis' friend Ronnie. He reasoned that panicking in front of women was an entirely different matters.

When they finally arrived at the apartment, now dressed as normal French civilians, including Bridget, they were all tried, hungry and completely drained. Ellis carefully locked the door behind them. They couldn't take any chances.

"All right, folks," Raine addressed the room. "We got a few hours to kill. Rest up, get somethin' to eat and brace yourselves."

"Help yourselves," Ellis gestured towards the kitchen area. There wasn't that much food, certainly not enough to satisfy a large group of hungry men, but it would tie them over for a while anyway. She had no appetite herself. Most of the men, Raine included, headed towards the tiny kitchen for something to eat. Strangely enough, Donny didn't join them. Instead he sat down on a chair at the table in the middle of the room. He looked pale and distant. Stiglitz also remained in the room, electing to sit near the window. However pale Donny looked, Stiglitz was worse, deathly almost. He took ragged breaths and clutched his shoulder. For someone in such pain, he looked more angry than distressed.

"Frau von Hammersmark," Ellis put her hand on the actresses shoulder. "You can go to the bedroom if you want to rest."

"Thank you," Bridget sighed with relief. She was getting too weak to keep up her proud façade up much longer. She was beginning to lose feeling in her leg. It was dying on her and it was all she could to not to burst into tears at the thought of losing it.

"I'll get you something to eat," Ellis told her. "You'll definitely need it."

"Don't bother," Bridget replied, smiling only slightly. "I don't eat for 24 hours before a public appearance as a rule. I'll be fine"

She hobbled off to the bedroom, maybe to sleep, or maybe to finally let it all out. Ellis resigned herself to the fact that she would not be able to change her mind. She sat down at the table across from Donny. For a few minutes, they said nothing, and listened solely to the chatter from the kitchen area.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" she finally asked Donny, feeling sorry for him. He wasn't usually so quiet or so sombre. He was supposed to be looking forward to tonight, but he looked miserable.

"Nah, I'm good," he shrugged. "I'm just thinking…"

"I understand," she nodded. She did understand really. There was a difference in fighting for what you believe in and dying for it.

"Don't worry," he drawled, making light once again. "I ain't gonna make a habit of it. Thinking, that is."

"If it means anything," she attempted some consolation. "You're going to save many more lives more than you take."

"I know," he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I mean, that's why I'm doing it. Its gotta be done, and I'm gonna enjoy it, believe me. But the thing is…"

He didn't know if it was wise to divulge his insecurities. After all, he was the Bear Jew. He was the name of fear amongst the German ranks. A fearsome and dangerous fighter against the Third Reich. It didn't seem fitting that he felt so unsure of himself right now. It felt weak. But he was amongst friends and allies now. Would it be so bad if the Bear Jew was just Donny Donowitz, the barber from Boston for a minute?

"Do you think we can actually pull this thing off?" he asked her.

"Oh," she replied, caught off guard by his question.

"Its just," he began. "We're faking being Italian. I mean, seriously? How are a room full of Nazis not gonna see through that? Especially that Landa son-of-a-bitch. Is this even gonna be possible."

Ellis reached for her locket, like she always did when she felt nervous. Touching her throat, she didn't feel its presence. She rubbed around her neck to try and find it, only to discover that it really wasn't there. Her heart skipped a beat. It was gone. It had been dropped somewhere. Maybe the truck? Maybe the vet's house? Her heart told her that was not so. Her instinct told her that it was lying instead on the cold, dirty floor of that tavern. It would be discovered, and it was likely that it would be discovered it was hers.

On the bright side, that would mean Landa would zero in on her. The others might be safe. Donny didn't need to know.

"Don't worry about Landa," she assured Donny, making sure she sounded calm. "Its my job to deal with him. Its your job to deal with everyone else."

"But do you think we can do it?"

"Maybe," she shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I guess not. We've got to do something, even if it doesn't work. Can't do nothing."

"If anyone can kill the Führer, it's probably you."

"Yeah, I got a reputation to protect."

She smiled back at him. The odds were against them, but she did believe that there was a chance. There had to be. If everything happened for a reason, then Donny had been born to end this war. She liked Donny, but she understood he was more than just the vessel for Jewish vengeance. He was the weapon, and he would be the sacrifice.

"Get something to eat," she told him. "I'm sure you can wrestle something from one of the smaller ones."

He just smiled and stood up, giving her a grateful look. His expression changed again quickly though, as if he was considering what he said next very carefully.

"Wicki called you Rachel, didn't he?" he asked. "I mean, he said it in kinda a German way, but it was Rachel, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she replied quietly, after considering it a minute. The name still felt sore.

"He carved your name in my bat a while ago," Donny informed her, deciding it was better for her that he didn't sugar coat it. The gesture was meaningful, what he said now wouldn't make it any more so.

"Your bat?" she repeated. "Well… thank you for telling me."

Some sort of feeling inside her threatened to surge through, but she pushed it back. No more. She couldn't take anymore. She knew what the names on the bat meant.

Donny just nodded and made his way to the kitchen, leaving her alone once more with Stiglitz. She made a point of ignoring him. She knew none of this was Stiglitz's fault. He was just as much a victim in this as any of them. She didn't even begrudge him for almost killing her. But it still wasn't fair, and she was far too proud to forgive him, or even be civil.

"Do you really…" Stiglitz began.

"I'm going to check on Frau von Hammersmark," she said flatly. She got up quickly and walked into her room, and away from Stiglitz. He didn't try to speak again. He gave a rough sigh, unsure if his head was pounding from injury or too much thinking.

She closed the door behind her softly, unsure whether Bridget was asleep. She sighed to herself once again.

"Everything all right?" a voice came from behind her. She turned around and saw Bridget sit up on the bed. She decided to ignore the red puffiness around Bridget's eyes in the half-light of the darkened room.

"Its fine," she replied. She wasn't going to elaborate any further, especially to someone she didn't trust. How was she to be sure this wasn't all an elaborate ruse? Yes, Bridget was injured, but losing a leg was not as bad as losing her life. They had been told there would be no Germans in that tavern, and yet it was full to the brim with them. There were too many holes in Bridget's story for them to trust her.

"Okay," Bridget exhaled tiredly. Of course Ellis would hold this against her. Her lover had died as a result of the events last night. That was pain she did not envy. Ellis remained facing the door, her back towards Bridget.

"Listen, Ellis," she began, her voice unsteady. "I'm sorry about your… I'm sorry about him. I honestly didn't think anyone would be there and I never intended for any of this to happen."

"Don't talk about it," Ellis muttered, finally turned to face Bridget. "I really don't feel like it."

"Please," Bridget pleaded. "I'm so sorry. I know that…"

"We don't need to be friendly, Frau von Hammersmark," Ellis stopped her. "We just need to make it through tonight. You don't need forgiveness to do your part, and I don't need to forgive you to do mine. Besides, you claim it wasn't your fault. Don't try to excuse yourself."

"I know," she insisted. "But you've lost someone close to you and…"

"I've lost everyone close to me, one more doesn't make a difference," Ellis lied. She wasn't able for more of this grief. She needed to brace herself for what lay ahead, but no one seemed to want her too. She didn't want to feel anything. Bridget gave in, and stopped trying to talk to her. She lay back down and breathed in deeply. Now Ellis felt guilty. Just fantastic.

"I'm sorry," she told the actress. "That was unnecessarily blunt."

"I understand," Bridget replied. "I won't pry any further."

"Do you mind moving over?" she asked. "I think I need some sleep as well."

* * *

Donny considered his position as he cut himself a slice of slightly stale bread. Ellis was right, even if they failed, at least they still would have tried. And it would be selfish of him to put his own life before the thousands, even millions, of lives that were depending on them. It was selfish, but he reasoned it was probably perfectly natural. Self-preservation was instinct one after all. It would be weirder to not feel anxious at all. He wasn't a machine, and he rather liked not being a machine. He had thought he might be able to go home, but that wasn't to be. Hopefully this was going to make that worth it.

It was difficult to push aside his anxiety though. He kept trying to remind himself that he was the Bear Jew. He was the Bear Jew. Killing Nazis is what he did and he was going to kill the biggest one of them all. But in the face of such a great task, he was feeling less Bear Jew and more bear cub. This wasn't like before. He couldn't bring his bat. He didn't get to run off into the woods with his friends. There would be no scalping. This was it. Everything before had just been a run up to this. This was the big finish and he wasn't entirely sure of what he was doing.

But like every time he began to feel secretly afraid, he tried to remember why he was doing this. It was for everyone who had been killed by this evil Reich, for everyone suffering because of it, for the people who had signed his bat, for the men who fought by his side, for the friend who died last night, for the woman who had lost everyone she had ever cared for, and for all those who would come after them and live in this world. That's what this was about.

If his father had been here he would have rattled on something about David and Goliath, or Moses leading the people from Egypt. Something inspirational to put holy fire in his belly. But God had never spoken to Donny, and to be perfectly frank, he was by no means a holy man.

But David was the runt of the litter. He was little guy nobody believed could take down the giant. And Moses? Well, Moses had run away from all his problems and thought he was well shot of them before he was told get right back to Egypt and set the Israelites free. He kept saying no, and he thought he couldn't do it. He could barely speak to people. How was he supposed to lead anyone anywhere? But David took down Goliath with a little stone, and Moses had freed the Israelites from slavery.

Donny didn't have any illusions of grandeur. He didn't consider himself a prophesied hero, or saviour. But he understood those stories. He had grown up with them. From boyhood he had been told that the little guy could take on the giant and win. He had been reminded at every Passover Seder of how their people had been freed from slavery. Whether these stories were true or not was a debate best left to men a lot smarter than he was, but he knew one thing for sure. Giants could be killed, and those enslaved could be set free. And now, it wasn't just the Jews who needed to be saved. They all needed to be saved.

And it was down to three men pretending to be Italian to do it.

* * *

The hour was fast approaching. The premiere was now two hours away and it was time for some serious preparation. Omar, Donny and Raine set up a curtain to shield the kitchen as they dressed in their suits. All that their friends could hear from them was various curses and grunts as they each struggled to get ready in the tiny space.

"Dammit, Omar!" Raine exclaimed. "Quit poking me with them elbows of yers!"

"I can't help it!"

"Lieutenant," Donny enquired. "My pants are too short."

"Mine are too long," Omar said also.

"Oh, for fu…" Raine stopped himself from swearing just in time. "You got the wrong ones on. Switch 'em. Now!"

"I feel like fuckin' penguin," Donny groaned.

"Don't bitch, Donny," Omar told him.

"Don't tell me what to do," Donny snapped at him. "Just remember whose gonna be fixing your hair."

"How'd you boys put on one of these fancy ties?" Raine asked, ignoring their bickering. "It ain't stayin' on."

"Oh, my god," came Omar's voice again. "I think I just spilled milk on me."

Their comrades listened to this running commentary with growing concern.

"We're fucked," Hirschberg sighed.

In Ellis' bedroom the two women were having better luck, due in part to having more space, and actually knowing what they were doing. They had not spoken since before they had gotten some sleep and kept mainly to themselves.

Ellis could help but notice how beautiful Bridget's dress looked. No doubt it cost an absolute fortune too. Even now, before any make-up was applied, she looked every bit the movie star. It made Ellis, in her relatively simple red dress, feel self-conscious. It was silly, but it bothered her.

Bridget let out a gasp of pain all of a sudden, and Ellis reeled around. Bridget was sitting on the bed once again, biting her lip as she grimaced in pain.

"Your leg?" Ellis asked, surprised by her own concern.

"Yes, I'm afraid," Bridget tried to laugh it off. "I'm going to need more painkillers if I'm going to do this. I can't even get my shoe on."

"Let me help," Ellis offered. She moved to the other side of the room and helped Bridget angle, slip on and tie her exquisite high heel. She kept reminding herself they had to work together.

"Thank you," Bridget said quietly. Ellis just gave her a fleeting smile to show her she was welcome.

"Its ironic, really," Bridget told her. "My father lost his left leg in the Great War also. Maybe it runs in the family." She gave a bitter laugh.

"Did he manage all right?" Ellis asked.

"Not really," Bridget shook her head. "But that was more the fault of the war, then the loss of his leg."

They slipped into silence again as Ellis returned to trying to fix her hair into something appropriate and Bridget began to apply her make up. Despite her calm demeanour, the memory of her father pressed heavily upon Bridget now. Her chest began to feel as though it was constricting and made it hard for her to breath. Eventually she put her compact mirror down and leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes.

"Frau von Hammersmark?" Ellis' voice came. Bridget opened her eyes again.

"Ellis, I want to tell you something," she began quietly, not looking at her. "I know we're not friends, and this is probably not in confidence. But I need you to know something about me. You have to understand why I'm here."

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," Ellis assured her, suddenly wary and a little bit frightened of what Bridget was talking about.

"Please," Bridget stopped her. "I've never told anybody."

Ellis just nodded and sat cautiously next to her on the bed.

"I was five years old when my father came home from the war," Bridget began her story. "He was a hero. A real hero. He had saved the lives of his squadron, not once, but twice. He lost a leg for it, and he saw terrible things. But he came home after the war and he carried on with his life with good spirits.

"He used to tell me when I was little that I was so dramatic that I would grow up to be an actress. He would come home with old books to read to me at bedtime. I still remember the smell of the old pages. And on Sundays, after church, he would always lift me up on his shoulders as we walked home.

"But because of the war his head was full of terrible things. At first it was just a nightmare every now and then. He would shake and sweat, and my mother would have to stay up all night with him. Then after his brother died in a car accident, it got worse. He started telling us stories about the war. Stories that frightened me, and afterwards he would become so distant. He drank more and more as the years passed. His nightmares became more frequent, and eventually he had to be given a separate bedroom so Mama could sleep. His behaviour became erratic, and eventually when I was 21 we were force to send him to a special hospital after he said he could hear voices screaming at him when he saw us.

"He stayed there for several years. At first we could visit him, and he was doing well. Then they started telling us we couldn't see him as often, and then not at all. During this time of course, Hitler and his Nazis came to power, and the world began to change so much. Out of the blue, just after I had gotten my first starring role, we received the news that he had died suddenly of fever. But at that stage we knew many of the staff at the hospital, and an orderly told us… He told us that he had been killed along with several other 'incurable' patients."

Ellis almost forgot to breathe.

"It was an initiative called Aktion T4. Designed to get rid of the sick and disabled people who were nothing more than a drain on the economy. There had been rumours of it in the media…. But we had no idea… And my father, who was a decorated war hero, was deemed unfit for life because of that very war.

"When talk of war began to spread, I immediately contacted a friend in London and let the authorities know that I would personally hand them the Führer on a platter if I could."

Ellis didn't speak. What was there to be said? Perhaps it was a clever lie delivered by a skilled actress, but Ellis recognised that dispassionate pain in Bridget's eyes and voice. There was something deeply rooted in her, which acted as the driving force in her life. Against her will, she had entered Bridget's world.

"So," Bridget started again, turning to her companion, her tone of voice noticeably brighter, as if nothing had happened. "Do you want help with your make up? You have some nasty bruises to cover."

* * *

They all looked wonderful, it had to be said. Beautiful women and dapper gentlemen, all. Donny and Raine did not appear at all comfortable in their suits, although Omar sheepishly admitted he sort of liked being dressed up. Donny had managed to get them cleanly shaved and neatly coiffured as well, although the women had unsurprisingly elected not to accept his assistance with their own hair.

The others felt strange watching their comrades primp themselves. These were hardened soldiers, men used to crawling in the mud and the dirt, men who were the farthest thing in the world from gentlemen. Now they were wearing designer suits and getting the hair done. It was almost surreal.

"We all good?" Raine called out to his dolled up colleagues.

There was a murmur around the room indicating that everyone was finally ready to go. Zimmerman moved over to the transmitter radio to double check everything was in order. When it was clear that all systems were a-go he gave the thumbs up to his commanding officer. There was nothing left to do, and for once they were ahead of schedule.

Suddenly there came a knock on the door. Everyone froze. Another knock came when nobody came to answer the door, this time more impatient.

"Should we answer it?" Utivich whispered to Raine.

"What do you think?" Raine hissed back.

"Everyone in the bedroom," Ellis ordered them quietly. "I'll answer it."

"The Hell you will!" Raine refused her.

"Get in there," she pointed to her room, and walked over to the door, showing Raine she was serious. He begrudgingly gave in and began shoving the others into the tiny room, Bridget included, eliciting a few gasps of pain.

"We're not gonna fit!" Sakowitz exclaimed.

"Shut up!" came the response.

Once they had all been pushed out of sight, Ellis gathered herself and opened the door. There stood Ronnie, also dressed up for tonight. Despite her efforts to look dolled up though, there was something shabby about her. She looked more exhausted than Ellis did, and there was a certain carelessness to how she had put herself together. There was a smell of wine on her also. Something was wrong.

"Ronnie?" Ellis said to her, not sure how to feel about her sudden appearance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ronnie chimed unconvincingly. "I just thought you might want to go with us to the premiere. It might be fun." Even her voice was rougher than before.

"Sorry," Ellis excused herself. "I'm actually meeting someone. You understand."

She felt nervous having Ronnie so close to Bridget and the Basterds. Not for them though, but for her. Ronnie might have been a German's girlfriend, but she had a soft spot for her. She really did think of her as being a friend, however bad she may be. If Raine and the others knew who she was then she would almost certainly wouldn't be allowed to leave at any cost. She had to get rid of her now. They were speaking in Dutch, so no one would understand what she was saying anyway.

"Of course," Ronnie tried to appear nonchalant, but her voice shook. She looked as though she might cry. "I'll see you there anyway. We have to enjoy ourselves tonight, don't we?"

"Ronnie…" Ellis was beginning to get anxious.

"Don't know what tomorrow brings, do we?"

"Ronnie," she tried to get her focused. "You should get back. It won't be long before Franken will want to go anyway."

"We shouldn't go," Ronnie suddenly exclaimed, still not looking completely with it. "We should just leave, and get the train and go somewhere, it doesn't have to be home."

"You need to go."

"Maybe if we leave, no one will ever know…"

"Ronnie!" Ellis finally grabbed hold of Ronnie's shoulders, and forced her to meet her gaze.

"When this is over…" Ronnie told her, steadier now. "They will come for women like us. Like me. The families of all those people Franken…"

"The Resistance won't kill anyone but the Nazis," Ellis promised.

"Aren't we Nazis by association?" Ronnie quipped. "Besides, how do you know that?"

"I just know…" Ellis told her. She made the decision that she was just going to come clean for one brief moment. This wouldn't be the end for Ronnie if she could help it.

Ronnie looked at her quizzically for a moment, as if unsure there was an undercurrent to what she had just said. Understanding crept across her face.

"Ellis!" she finally gasped. For some reason it made so much sense to her. How could she not have even suspected it before? "Jesus, Ellis!"

She was laughing now almost, in shock and amazement. She took hold of Ellis' shoulders now, and gripped them tightly, delirious.

"You're just like Greta Garbo in Mata Hari!"

"And you've been drinking. Be quiet!" Ellis hissed. "Now listen to me. You can't go to the premiere tonight. Trust me, you can't be there. Get on the train as soon as you can and just get out of here."

"What do you mean? Is something going to happen?"

"I can't tell you anything. Just please leave, Ronnie. Get the train like you said. Don't look back."

"I can't… I… What about Günther?"

"Make an excuse. Tell him you're in love with someone else. Say you caught him cheating. Anything! He'll be too busy tonight to follow you. You don't care about him anyway."

She began to push Ronnie out, her arms still wrapped around her shoulders. The tipsy Ronnie was becoming more bewildered by everything thrown at her. Her eyes began to tear up once again. She stopped suddenly again, not letting Ellis push her any farther.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked Ellis. "I don't deserve it…"

"Ronnie," Ellis stated flatly, with newfound authority. "Believe me, if you go to that premiere tonight, you will always just be a Nazi woman. If you leave, you can change that. You can be anything you want. I don't want to see anything happen to you."

"What about you?"

"I can't tell you anything."

"Thank you, Ellis. Just… Thank you. I'll go. I will."

"Good."

Ronnie turned to leave, unsure of herself and everything she had just been told. Could it be possible that she was being given another chance? Did she even deserve it? She promised herself there and then that she would make it so. She would change. She would not throw away the new life given to her. There was no time to waste.

"Ellis," she turned back and looked at her friend, for what could very easily be the last time. "Be careful. Don't be like Garbo."

And with that Ronnie was gone. Probably for good now. Ellis' anxiousness was now replaced with pure nervousness. She remembered what happened at the end of Mata Hari, and it didn't end well for Garbo.

* * *

Alrighty then:) I hope you enjoyed it, you're all such lovely people that you deserve nothing but 100%. This chapter really helped me to get back in the swing of things anyway, and I enjoyed writing a little less grief and more psychological type stuff. Good times. Donny has fast become my favourite character to write actually. He's the only one really keeping his eyes on the prize really, and he's become a lot of the emotional focus. Who knew? As for Bridget, I've avoided going too in detail with her before, but she's here and I thought she deserved her own reasons for being here. Aktion T4 was a real Nazi policy, and one I had previously not heard of before I started researching this stuff. Really, really awful stuff.

I have also introduced another Zwartboek character, Hans Akkermans. Those of you who are familiar with Zwartboek will know this man, and those of you who don't, well, you're going to find out all about him. He is crucial, believe me. And as for Ronnie, I've been giving her a little extra attention. This is not an indulgence on my part, she has a big role to play in all of this.

But apart from all these notes (I ramble, I know), I would really appreciate any comments or criticism you have. I want to know if I'm still making everything clear, if you're still enjoying the characters, is Ellis still relatable etc. Please, I don't want to write crap, so I need your help.

Once again, thank you for you support. I truly appreciate all the comments I have been given and I have over 100 reviews now! I don't generally respond to individual comments, but I will address everyone personally at the end of all this:) xxx


	30. Hearts and Minds

Yes, hello! We are back, and happy to be so:) I'm extremely sorry for leaving anyone hanging, but life gets in the way of these things sometimes. But I'm not going to waste time on excuses, here is your new chapter -the first of 2 I'm adding tonight (for reasons I will explain later).

Disclaimer: No money, don't waste your time.

* * *

The truck stopped quietly in the dark Parisian street. A small residential area, there were no signs of soldiers, or patrols, or even the French residents of the area. It was quiet and still, perfect for the agents of Operation Kino. Omar hesitated for a second before stepping out of the back of the truck. The journey from Montparnasse had seemed to take forever, and yet now it seemed over all too quick. They were here. This was it. It was becoming all too real for him.

Realising that he couldn't falter now, Omar jumped out of the back before he thought the others would notice his hesitation. He had to be all business now. He wasn't like Stiglitz, or Raine, or even Donny, but that didn't matter. There was nothing for it; he had to step up to the plate this time. Too much was riding on their mission succeeding. It was time for his game face.

Donny had noticed however, but said nothing. Omar had remained silent for the entire journey, and while they had all remained silent, it felt far too unnatural for Omar not to speak. Donny knew he was nervous. Hell, Donny was nervous too, but seeing Omar turn quiet and solemn made him feel sad actually. But he said nothing. It was better that way. Instead he jumped out after Omar, and turned around to help Bridget out after him. She was barely able to walk as it was, so hopping down from the truck unaided was not an option.

In the front, Raine stepped out first, readjusting the small bowtie around his neck. He wasn't used to this fancy get-up. It just didn't feel right for him. But he couldn't exactly waltz into the Nazi shindig in his uniform, could he? Besides, this tuxedo would actually provide perfect cover for his knife, the dynamite and his pistol, so they wouldn't catch him complaining.

Ellis followed him out of the front seat, with Utivich following behind. The night air was surprisingly warm, she thought. The perfect summer evening, the Nazis must be delighted with themselves. Sometimes when she moved she could still feel a slight ache in her neck and parts of her back, reminders of last nights events, but she ignored them. She was so exhausted in every way that it was hard to care about anything anymore. She knew that her voice was substantially more gravelly than usual also, but she considered that the Germans problem and not hers.

"Hammersmark," Raine addressed the actress, quietly but with authority. "Where's this driver of yers?"

"He'll be at the end of the street in a few minutes," she assured him, hobbling over from the back of the truck. "And don't worry, he knows nothing."

"Dandy," Raine replied. "Donny, Omar. Let's finish these ensembles, shall we?"

And with that he moved to the back of the truck where the others stood. It was time to stick on the dynamite and set the timers. Ellis had given them the schedule for the evening's events, and knowing the Germans and their efficiency, that schedule would be very strictly adhered to. That was one good thing about these Germans; you could set your watch by them… or even your timer. The screening would begin at 8.30, and at 9.45, towards the end of the film, the fireworks would start.

Before his comrades began their final preparations, Utivich turned away, not at ease with the concept of his friends strapping explosives to themselves. It had to be done, but he didn't have to like it. Instead he watched as an already weary Bridget leaned against the wall of a building, trying to take the weight off her injured leg. The cast looked strange underneath her designer gown, but he had to give her credit for the heel she had made them mould onto the cast. That was real ingenuity. Ellis stood not so far off, looking down the dark street, as though expecting something to pop out of the shadows. Whatever make-up she was wearing certainly did cover the bruises on her face, but it still looked a little swollen. She still looked beautiful though.

Deciding now was the time for a smoke, Ellis opened her purse in order to find her cigarette case. Instead she was greeted with the sight of the yellowing envelope containing all of Wicki's memories, and also the small black book sent to her by the notary, Smaal. Horrified, she realised that she had forgotten to remove them from her purse before she left the apartment. How could she have been so stupid? If the cinema was going to go down in flames tonight, she didn't want all Wicki's keepsakes burning with her. She had promised to keep them safe –to keep the memories alive for him. And as for the book? Well, she wouldn't have time to figure out why it had been sent to her now anyway, but yet she knew Smaal would have only sent it to her if it was of dire importance.

Looking over, she spotted Utivich trying his best not to look nervous. He looked up briefly, but quickly looked away again when he saw her watching him, attempting to look unconcerned. The answer became apparent.

"Smithson," she addressed him quietly, walking over to him, reluctant to let the others hear. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"A favour?" he asked, embarrassed by how high pitched he sounded. He needed to keep his composure. "Yes, of course. What do you need?"

"I need you to take these," she said, pulling the envelope out of her handbag carefully. "I need someone to keep them safe for me. I'm not in the position to keep anything safe."

"Photographs?" he replied, sounding puzzled. He took the envelope cautiously from her, as though afraid he may destroy it somehow just by taking it. He was aware of Ellis' fragile state right now, and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her further. "Are they of your family?"

"No," she shook her head at his sweet assumption. "Not my family."

Utivich pulled out a few of the photos, realising too late how insensitive it may seem. At first they just seemed like the pictures of just any family, but after looking at a couple he finally came to the one of a younger happier Wicki. His heart sank at the sight of Wicki's youthful face. Had he ever even seen Wicki smile?

"It's Wicki's family," he said softly.

"Yes," she sighed, catching a brief glimpse of the same picture.

"I'm sorry I have to ask you this," she continued, speaking quickly now. "But I need someone I can trust. They're all that's left, and I promised…"

"I'll do it," Utivich stopped, his voice no longer sounding unsure. He took his gaze from the photo and looked her directly in the eye, steady and certain.

She was used to the Utivich who was so quiet, and even bashful. The Little Man who felt the tension of their uncertain lifestyle more keenly than the others. The one who could simply not hide his concern and fear for those around him in the threat or wake of violence. Yet now for the first time he looked as steady as a rock. It made him looked older than his 25 years. She decided against giving him the black book as well. The keepsakes would be enough of a burden as it was, and besides, whatever the book contained would probably no longer matter after tonight one way or another.

"Thank you." It was all she could say.

"Wicki did what he did for his family," he told her. "He'd want to see them taken care of, even if its just memories."

He paused.

"I'll hold on to them for as long as I can."

"Don't be like that," she replied, as though offended by the implication. "You're getting out of here."

"I'm in this just as much as you guys," he told her, sharper than before. "If you guys don't make it, I'm not running."

"Than you're an idiot."

"No, I'm not. I know exactly what the risks are. If you succeed the Germans will swarm here, and if you get caught they'll swarm here. My job is to take down as many as I can with me."

"No one's asking you to," Ellis told him flatly.

"The hell they're not!," he replied, aware he needed to keep his voice low. "I can do this just as much as Raine, or Donny. I'm not the getaway driver, I'm the back up."

"Smithson…"

"I'm not scared. I'm ready. Just like they are with that dynamite." He gestured towards the others.

"They are scared," she stopped him. "Omar hasn't said a word since we left. And Donny? He might have his reputation, but do you really think he doesn't want to go home. This place is Hell, and it changes you, believe me. He doesn't want to die here, he wants to die as the man he was before."

Utivich didn't respond. He didn't know whether to be angry or embarrassed. He didn't know why Raine had chosen him to be the driver. Usually he was treated like the reserve, not the go-to guy. The harder and riskier the job, the less likely it was to be his. He didn't necessarily want that stuff, but he hated being treated like the weak link. He wasn't scared. If it needed to be done, he was fully capable of doing it. He had killed. He had scalped for Christ sake.

"I'm your friend," she assured him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "And I'm tired of losing everyone. If you get out of here, you can do anything. More than a common soldier, or a guerrilla fighter. You're clever enough, and good enough to change things without killing anyone."

"I'm not leaving."

"You owe it to everyone to live. To Raine. To Wicki. And even to me. I need to believe that somebody good is somewhere if I'm going to do this."

It pained to think of anything happening to Utivich. He was so sweet, and so kind. He had become the friend she had needed more than anything. He was a soldier, and she knew he was just as brave as he said. But how was he not wise enough to see that he didn't need a gun in his hands to be strong right now.

"You don't have to die either," he snapped. "Just do your bit and get out, but we both know you won't do that."

"I have to stop Landa ruining everything," she insisted.

"Once they're in, there's nothing he can do. They'll take everyone down with them. You could leave."

He was right. She could just leave. But how could she make him see that she wasn't going to. She was being just like him. But he had a future ahead of him, the smart and sensitive man who could tell stories of the war and bring understanding of what happened here. He needed to live and tell the story of how some of their people, the Jews, refused to back down, of how they would not just die. The others may also live, but they would struggle for a lifetime to suppress everything they had seen and experienced and become just men again. Smithson Utivich would be the only one capable of stepping up and taking the responsibility of showing a world that did not fully understand yet why this had happened.

Ellis was nothing. She had nothing. No family. No money. No will to rebuild a life. All that was left for her to do was make sure no one left that cinema tonight, and that Hans Landa paid for all the suffering he had caused.

"This shouldn't be how we say goodbye," she said sadly. "Fighting like children. It was hard enough to make you trust me in the first place. Let's part friends."

"Only if you swear to get out if you can get out."

"What?"

"Listen, I know Donny, and Omar and even Raine won't be leaving once they go in. They have to see it through till the end. And quite frankly I don't care too much about Bridget von Hammersmark. But you've got a shot at getting out."

She didn't reply.

"You said I owe to all of you to live. We'll you too. You owe it to your family to live. You owe it to me… And you owe to Wicki."

She still didn't respond.

"Wicki would want you to get out of here. He'd want you to see everything get better."

"Things might not get better."

"Well, then you'll have to live to change that too."

She didn't know what to say or do. Utivich was being so sincere. How could she possibly explain it to him. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't even a decent spy. She was just tired. Tired of fighting to survive. Tired of lying and pretending to be someone else. Tired of living with the memory of everything that was gone. Tired of losing everything again and again. She just wanted to close her eyes and leave it all behind her.

"Promise?" he asked her. In his heart he swore to Wicki, his dead friend that he would do whatever it took to make sure Ellis was all right. No one else had the chance to leave that cinema tonight, but she could. She could live. Didn't she understand that she could survive this too? That maybe she had survived time and time again for a reason? That maybe she was meant to go on?

"I promise," she lied.

* * *

Somewhere not so far away, Hans Akkermans was still searching for the elusive Ellis de Vries. He had asked everywhere for the whereabouts of the Dutch chanteuse, and yet no one had any information for him.

No sensible person would answer the questions of a foreign stranger anyway, he knew. For all they knew he was Gestapo, looking to arrest anyone on trumped up charges, or perhaps Resistance, which would land them in immediate danger. Any approach he made to strangers, however innocent his questions, Hans was merely dismissed, or ignored by the Parisians.

It was frustrating to say the least. There was only one thing for it.

Stepping into the bar, he took a cautious look around at the German soldiers enjoying their night off. Not too many were getting the night off tonight. The pigs' premiere required ten times the normal amount of security, but a lucky few soldiers did have a night off to enjoy.

Knowing how to navigate this situation, Hans went directly to the bar and ordered himself a glass of red wine. Taking his first sip of the cheap red, he turned around and surveyed his surroundings. In one corner a large group of soldiers were rowdily drinking and laughing amongst themselves. Dotted around the place were civilian patrons, substantially quieter than the carousing Germans.

Across the bar however, sat three German soldiers also enjoying a drink, although in a less hardy fashion than their colleagues.

Bingo.

"My friends," Hans walked over to them apologetically, his face the mask of congeniality. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but do any of you have a light?" He held out his cigarette towards them.

"No problem," one of the men obliged and held out his lighter.

After that it was easy enough to begin a conversation with the men. They weren't as drunk as the others, but yet they were loose enough to not be wary of this stranger. Just common soldiers, what information could they possibly have to interest a spy anyway. Tonight they were all friends.

"I must confess, my friends," Hans smiled at his new acquaintances. "I don't know much about Paris. Where would you recommend for an enjoyable evening?"

"Any of the smaller music halls," recommended one, the quietest of the group. "The big ones get too crowded, but the smaller one are nice and quiet. And they have a more local flavour."

"The cinemas are also good," offered another, a rather short fellow.

"Ha, not tonight!" laughed the first. "All shut, except for the premiere."

"Ah, yes," Hans nodded. "The premiere you all cleverly managed to avoid."

"I'll drink to that!" the third man cheered, thrusting his glass into the air in toast.

"Actually, I have heard another recommendation," Hans mentioned coyly. "Being Dutch myself, I was told about a rather remarkable singer from the Hague. I think the name was de Vries, or maybe de Jong…"

"Oh, you must mean Ellis de Vries," said the short one. "Yes, she's meant to be quite good."

"She sang at the Bobino before it closed," the third man interred after taking a large swig of his beer. "I don't know where she is now."

Hans' hopes sank. He could feel all his hopes for finding the crafty Ellis slipping away. Once again she had slipped through the net.

"Richard, you idiot," the short one reprimanded his friend. "Paul told us just the other day about her. She's singing at the premiere tonight. He wouldn't shut up about how nice her legs were."

The premiere. Hans couldn't help but smile. It made perfect sense now. She may not be keeping her contact with the Resistance back home , but she certainly was not lying idle. She would try something tonight no doubt, perhaps even in cahoots with those Americans running about the forests. All he would have to do now was get as close to that cinema as he could and wait. Either she would fail and the Germans would take care of her, or she would get out of there in one piece and he would have to do it himself.

All that mattered was that little book in her possession. Smaal was gone now, Hans had made sure of that, but the old bastard had made sure to get that book to Ellis somehow. And if she figured out what was in that book… well, she wouldn't get the chance now, would she?

No one knew he was here, not even Kuipers, the so-called head of the Resistance. He was just another fool. They were all fools. Unfortunately amongst these fools, Kuipers and Ellis were the most dangerous. This war was going to end sooner rather than later, but that would not mean there would be peace. If he didn't get things in order now, who was to say one of them may not come back looking for their retribution?

But he was not prepared to let that happen.

* * *

The air was hot. Too hot. It was suffocating and he could stand it no longer.

Stiglitz's eyes shot open. He sat bolt upright in the bed. Searing pain stabbed at his shoulder, causing him to hiss in agony. He gripped the painful area with his good hand, only to realise his grip was significantly weaker. Pulling his hand away he watched it quiver. He hated this weakness. The iron strength he had cultivated was just out of reach, leaving him feeling like half the man he was.

But at least the pain seemed to still his racing mind; the urgent nature of it demanding all his attention. And for that, he would bear it a while longer.

Moving over, he sat on the edge of the bed, every movement causing a sting. He bent over and rubbed his face. He let his mind empty now, knowing only the pain for a few minutes. He remained like this for a while, maybe seconds, or minutes, he couldn't tell.

In the apartment above, a child began crying. It was a small sound, but in the silence it drew him in, wakening him from his reverie. But he didn't begin to think, he began to remember.

* * *

Phew, that took a while. I know you're probably thinking "gosh that chapter was rather short". I know its not as long as usual, but this is because the second half I am publishing tonight also (purely for logistical reasons). Its just better to keep them both short, as they're quite full chapters. Since we've all been away for a while our memories, including my own, are a bit rusty for this story probably and as a result I don't want to bombard you with too many of the older plot details at once, just in case it all gets a bit too much.

Anyway, on to the next chapter! I hope you enjoyed this:) Thank you so much for your patience, and continued calls for me to stop being lazy.


	31. Loose Ends

Alrighty then, let's get cracking on the second half of the new beginning. And I think you'll all be glad to hear this is a very Hugo-centric chapter:)

Disclaimer: We good? Yeah?

* * *

Three years ago Hugo Stiglitz was just another soldier learning to serve cause and country. He was a natural soldier in some respects, and a terrible soldier in others. No one was a better shot. No one was faster or stronger. But his insubordination ruined things for him again and again. It seemed he was being punished more and more frequently as time passed. It didn't help that Strasser, his commanding officer, seemed to take so much relish in torturing him.

But that was all about to change. Stiglitz had been on his best behaviour lately. No back talk, no fighting and no more ignoring his superiors. No, he was a completely reformed character. He was certain that in his office Strasser was bragging about how he'd finally broken the unconquerable Stiglitz and moulded him into the perfect soldier. He would be arrogant enough to think so.

He hadn't been broken. No, he couldn't be broken, especially not by some fat bastard like Strasser. He had a plan, and the rewards of success were well worth keeping his head down for a while.

The plan began with his impeccable behaviour, but soon enough came his opportunity to move to the next step. For the first time in a very long time Stiglitz finally managed to get his weekly leave. It was a strange feeling to have a night off, since he wasn't used to having free time in which to do what he pleased. Usually held in detention, or given extra duties while his peers enjoyed their nights off, it didn't feel natural for him to be let off the leash. But he was not entirely free, he reminded himself whenever he began getting carried away, he had a job to do here.

Christiane Strasser was Strasser's eldest daughter, and a bored socialite with little else to do with her time than indulge her more reckless impulses. Everyone knew she was a flirt and a surprisingly heavy drinker. Everyone that is, except her deeply Catholic father. She was known to hang out in the bars where the soldiers took their leave, sneaking out whenever her mother's back was turned, looking for fun and intrigue with the fine young men in uniform. With her father living out in the army barracks at the edge of the city, she had no fear of discipline, and so flaunted her rebellious streak. She was by no means a bad girl though, or even vindictive like her father, merely the result of too little affection, too much money and too little to do. Whenever they visited her father on the barracks she and her younger sisters were the absolute models of polite, modest German young ladies. And it was at precisely such a time that Stiglitz had first spotted her, and realised exactly what he could do to get his revenge on Strasser.

It had been easy enough to do. Stiglitz knew from experience that he was attractive enough to charm a girl once he got her attention, and a girl like Christiane, desperate for validation wherever way she could get it, would be easy enough to get the attention of. He had never been one for small talk, let alone flirtation, but he had still managed to win her over.

She had been surprisingly charming actually. Most of her conversation was merely bitching about her father, which naturally appealed to Stiglitz. She had been trapped at home for several weeks, she told him, after her exasperated mother had finally told her father she was behaving in a 'less than ladylike' fashion, and he had put his foot down. But now daddy was too busy to notice and mother dearest could no longer control her. That was all Stiglitz needed to hear.

A week later he was able to complete his mission, having already finished the hard part. Once finished and dismissed by the lady, he carefully stole two small items from her room. The first was a small necklace with an oval-shaped charm, bearing her initials. This he dropped subtly while Strasser and the other officers watched the soldiers perform their routine drills. Strasser found the trinket on the ground moments later and recognised it immediately. Flustered, and visibly shaken, he had stuffed the necklace in his pocket before anyone else had a chance to see it. But Stiglitz saw.

The second item was of a far less innocent nature of course, and lying amongst Stiglitz's possessions in the clothes trunk underneath his bed. Once the necklace had been found, Strasser soon came up with a flimsy pretext to order a 'routine' inspection of the soldiers' possessions, driven mad by thoughts of his daughter. Everyone's trunks were perfectly neat and held no trace of any contraband items. Everyone that was, except for Stiglitz.

It was the triumphant he had ever felt in his entire life. Strasser turned a lurid pink at the sight of his daughter's clothing in the trunk, his breath becoming heavy, verging on a wheeze, and a vein throbbing on his forehead. No matter how he tried to pretend nothing was the matter, it was apparent to all that something had enraged him. So much so that he soon had to drop the pretence of inspecting the trunks and excuse himself, saying he felt ill.

Whatever punishment would come next, Stiglitz knew it would be worth it.

* * *

Back in the present, sitting in pain and darkness in Ellis' room, his mind retuned back to his current situation. He thought it was strange how his mind had wandered back to those memories. Maybe it was guilt? Maybe… Maybe not.

It had been several months later by the time he had heard Strasser's daughter had been sent to convent. That could have meant only one thing. He shuddered now at the thought of it. But at that time, he had seen it as an even more wicked triumph for him.

It was probably not his, and even if it was, she wouldn't want him to have anything to do with either of them. In fact, she probably didn't even keep it, just left the child in some dreadful orphanage as that was what usually happened in these situations. She wouldn't want the kid anymore than he did. Poor loveless thing.

He never wanted children. He wasn't too keen on the family on the family he had already, why on earth would he want to add on to that? But he did wonder.

He stood up, ignoring the pain, perhaps becoming used to it. Anything was better then the thoughts in his head. He looked around and located his shirt on the floor below. Bending over he gingerly picked it up. He threw it on, and began to button it slowly. He had made up his mind now. He was leaving. He didn't know where he would go, or what he would do, but he was not staying here. What was there for him anyway? If Operation Kino failed the best of the Basterds would be dead anyway, and if he wished to continue to fight it could not be with the men here. They would be smuggled out as fast as possible so the Allies could salvage what they could. And if it succeeded? The war would end, and there would be nothing else for him to do. He wasn't about to go and live in America like they had offered him. He was not destined for a normal life, and the U.S. could give him nothing else.

He didn't like his life anyway, and he had come to understand that he didn't even like himself. It would be better if he just vanished. There could be a story, a legend, a myth, or whatever else left in his wake, and he could find himself a new path. He was tired of Hugo Stiglitz.

Standing up, he marched out of the bedroom door and past the other Basterds, stopping only to grab a coat. They looked up, completely bewildered. They were used to bizarre behaviour from Stiglitz, but this right now seemed incomprehensible.

"Stiglitz!' called Hirschberg, before Hugo could get to the door, starting after him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," Stiglitz replied flatly, as if what he was doing was perfectly normal.

"But…" Hirschberg didn't know what to say. "You can't."

"Yes, I can. I'm not needed here anyway."

"We have orders," Kagan suddenly stood up. "We gotta stay here."

"When I started with you," Stiglitz reminded them. "Your commander told me I was free to do as I please when this was all over."

"Its not over yet."

"Whatever happens next, its over," Stiglitz shrugged.

They had no idea what to say or do. What would Raine have done if he was here? They knew they couldn't stop Stiglitz, nothing could do that. There wasn't much sense in trying to reason with him either. He was just the kind of person not to care, even if the streets were crawling with enemies.

He would not betray them though. Of this they were certain.

"But… I mean… It's…" Hirschberg was still at a loss as to what to say. It just wasn't right.

"All right, Stiglitz," Zimmerman suddenly intoned, putting a hand on Hirschberg's shoulder. Older than the others, he had the wisdom to know they should just let their German colleague leave. "Go."

"Thank you," Stiglitz nodded, before turning and opening the door to leave.

"Good luck," came Sakowitz's voice, from somewhere behind him.

He left with no further word, heading down the stairway, feeling less stubborn now. He almost felt guilty for leaving so abruptly, but he was right. He couldn't stay. His work was done, there was nothing left for him there.

The time had come. The night was young and people had already begun to arrive. Everything about the modest cinema had been stylised to make it modern, sleek and perfectly suitable for an exclusive event. Waiters, waitresses, attendants and security buzzed about, constantly being called on for this and for that. Though the crowd had only begun to arrive, the sounds of pleasant chatter and laughter already filled the hall.

* * *

Landa surveyed the scene from above, his eye keen and sharp as it slowly moved over the crowd. There was nothing of particular interest to him at the moment. But he just had to be patient. Things would be heating up soon enough anyway.

Ah, how he was looking forward to this evenings festivities. To think when he had first gotten the job as head of security here he had been so unhappy about it. And now he practically giddy at the prospect. How lovely things could turn out sometimes.

Looking down once more, he spotted one of the people he had been looking for. Günther Franken was standing awkwardly amongst the throng, trying to look enthusiastic as he spoke to the other guests. His tart wasn't with him, Landa noticed. Probably the reason for his foul mood. Not that that mattered, Landa had just the thing to preoccupy him. If the rumours of Franken's thievery were true, he would soon be found out. But there was something else that he needed Franken for tonight.

"Hermann," Landa spoke quietly. He had no need to raise his voice too loudly, Hermann was always floating about nearby. "Fetch Franken."

Hermann obeyed immediately, his heart sinking at Landa's tone of voice. It was darker than usual. Normally Landa kept his voice as light and genial as possible, even when what he was saying was truly terrifying. But sometimes, alone with Hermann, little more than a lapdog to him, Landa didn't bother keeping up this pretence. It was when Landa's true character was revealed, even if it was only slightly.

Once Hermann was gone, Landa steered his eyes towards the doorway, knowing that any moment now his time would come.

He didn't have to wait too long. Only a few minutes later, his guests of honour arrived. The resplendent Bridget von Hammersmark made her appearance, accompanied by three mysterious, dashing strangers, and also the charming young singer who be entertaining them tonight. Landa stepped back from the edge of the balcony and walked back down the hallway, reaching his office quickly and quietly. He picked up the phone and dialled the extension he had already prepared in order to call on the small group of soldiers he had at his disposal tonight.

"Landa here," he said flatly into the receiver. "They're here. Mobilise."

* * *

He had left the Basterds less than thirty minutes ago. Not so long in the grand scheme of things, but when he caught sight of an armoured vehicle as it drove past him on the street, heading in the direction he had just come from, something clicked inside for Stiglitz. He may have been wrong, but something perceptive within him told him that something was up. He couldn't explain it, he just instinctively knew.

He moved through the dark streets of Paris alone, the pain in his shoulder still taunting him. He was unsure of where he was going or what exactly he intended to do, all he knew was that instinct was telling him something was wrong. He had to go back.

The streets of Paris were in chaos. The Resistance had attacked the weakened garrisons and checkpoints of the Germans in the knowledge that most of their security and attention would be on the premiere tonight. The Germans had foolishly been caught of guard, and many soldiers actually fled from their stations. But it was not just the Resistance who were fighting now; the ordinary Parisians had also risen up, finally seeing their chance to throw off their chains. There were some fleeing and desperately seeking to evade the violence, mainly women and children, and there were those who saw this as an opportune time to begin looting. Groups of people attacked fleeing soldiers and collaborators knowing no more inhibitions. The time to rise up had finally come for Paris.

The scene that greeted Stiglitz in Montparnasse was not a pleasant one. Like the rest of the city, the sounds of screams, yells, gunshots and battle cries filled the air. Some were panicking, some were simply too confused and dazed to know what to do. He moved as quietly and quickly as he could, aware that one indication of his nationality would most likely get him killed. The sights and sounds around him did not perturb him however. Chaos was often as good a cover as any. The only thing he focused on now was getting back to Ellis' apartment.

Finally reaching the

* * *

building he took notice of the surrounding area. The amount of confused and frightened people standing in the street was much larger than he had seen before. Still breathing deeply from his fast walking, he realised the only reason for this must be that they were all displaced from their homes, the small apartments, and were too afraid to go back in. There was no sign of the Germans here however.

_Was he too late?_

Pushing through the throng of people, Stiglitz eventually broke through, ignoring the shooting pains from his injured arm. On impulse he kicked down the door of the building and made his way up the stairs. The fifth floor. He just had to get to the fifth floor.

The sounds of the outside turmoil could not be heard inside the building. In fact no sound could be heard at all. It was deathly silent, as though abandoned. Reaching the fifth floor, he moved through the dim light to reach the door of the apartment. He didn't even have to remember the number on the door; it was wide open when he got there. Kicked down like the one he had just broken through downstairs. He no longer moved with caution. He knew it was too late.

Turning into the doorway he saw the four of them. Sakowitz, Hirschberg, Zimmerman and Kagan. All dead. Someone had figured out where the Basterds had holed themselves up in the city. The Germans had known somehow and come in guns blazing. The room stank of stale smoke and gunpowder.

Hardened as he was, Stiglitz stomach turned at the sight of it. Though he had never been a talker, he had always been a listener, and he had overheard many of their conversations, stupid, meaningful or otherwise. He knew these men much better than they had realised. He could name some their relatives and friends even. He knew that war was unforgiving and death was very much a part of life, but the sight of his dead comrades saddened him –the ruthless Hugo Stiglitz. He had known men who fought on orders given, he had not known many who had fought for what they believed in, and for that he had respected the Basterds more than most.

But now there really was no time to waste. If someone had known that the Basterds were in the apartment of Ellis de Vries somehow, then more than likely they also knew about Operation Kino as well. It may already be too late, but he had to get to that cinema. His mercenary heart was suddenly filled with purpose, and he would see it through until the end.

* * *

And there we have the second half:) I'm not gonna lie, it was tough to get back into this again, but I'm a stubborn person and just kept harping away at it. I hope this explains a little bit more about Stiglitz's past to you, as well as give you a hint of where he's going too. Yes, the end of the chapter is the preview I posted before, but that's because it was always part of the chapter and I just used as a teaser before. Next week I will (hopefully) have a brand spanking new chapter for you all that is of a more sufficient length and quality.

And just so you know, this story won't necessarily end where you think it will... We'll be going on further past Operation Kino and into the fallout of a post-War Europe. No, this fic won't last forever, I do know when and how it's going to end, but I just want to give advance warning that we have a few miles to go yet. But don't worry, you're favourite Basterds will still be there:)

Any review or comments you can give are very much appreciated, I'm all too aware that I'm very rusty at the moment, but hopefully I'll get back into the groove of things soon enough. Thanks so much for reading, I do LOVE doing this and appreciate all the support I've been given. Some of the comments I have received have been so lovely and have meant the absolute world to me. Thank you, thank you so much:)


	32. At the Opera Tonight

'Allo, 'allo! I'm so, so very sorry that this is long overdue! I have no excuses, I should have never promised it would be up the following week, and so I won't promise that again. Please forgive me, even if I don't deserve your patience:( I will state again however that I am definitely going to finish this fic. I won't just leave it in limbo forever. I will aim to be more consistent and to upload more frequently, and I shall certainly try to not leave things more than a month between updates. Again, so sorry!

**Disclaimer: **We good? Good.

The party was in full swing. In just over an hour it would be time to unveil Goebbels's latest cinematic masterpiece, and relish in the glory of their youngest hero, Fredrick Zöller. The sounds of chatter and laughing filled the large reception area as the German bourgeois ate drank and were merry.

In amongst the revellers, trying to look as inconspicuous and deep in conversation as possible, were Bridget von Hammersmark and three distinctly non-German male friends. A few people passed comment on the actress' injured leg and cast curious glances towards the 'Italian' gentlemen in their midst, but mostly they were left alone. A couple of older acquaintances did approach Bridget and her companions, but anyone who did quickly left, feeling distinctly unwelcome under the largest Italian's gaze. It was somewhat out of character for the gregarious Frau von Hammersmark to not be the centre of attention, but most put this down to self-consciousness at looking less than perfect in her cast.

"How much longer we gotta do this?" Raine asked Bridget quietly, careful not to be overheard.

"I didn't think you were so eager to blow up," Bridget replied, almost bitterly. "Be patient. The screening isn't for another hour. The Führer won't be here until the very last minute."

"You mean we've got to just stand here for another hour?" Omar whispered, sounding horrified. This was torture for him. He had thought the ride over was bad, but this waiting was killing him even more. It might have been strange, but he just wanted it all to be over with. He had psyched himself up to do this, but with each uncomfortable minute here, his resolve weakened and things just became more and more painful.

"Yes!" she hissed. "And could you at least pretend to speak Italian?" She did not mean to be so irritated and short with them. She knew full well that it would help no one in this situation, but she couldn't help it. This was the most nerve-wracking experience of her life, even more so than the bar last night. She might have looked calm enough outwardly, but a small part of her brain was screaming at her for putting herself through this, and for what? It probably wouldn't even work. Within her chest, it felt like her heart was pounding like the timpani in one of those ridiculous Wagnerian orchestras.

"All right, all right," Raine responded, putting some authority in his tone to reprimand her a little bit. "No need to get pissy at us. And Omar; keep your britches on. This here's gotta be a waiting game for now."

"Sorry, boss," Omar calmed himself down.

"This is bullshit," Donny suddenly interjected. "Why'd we have to come so damn early? _Ascolta mi._" The phrase was Donny's heavily accented and loud attempt at speaking Italian as a German walked too close to him for comfort. At least he was trying. He only knew a few phrases, but hell, he didn't exactly need to have a full conversation.

Away from the reception area, Ellis was doing her final preparations before heading out for what would be her final performance. Looking in the mirror, she hummed to herself, deciding it would be the easiest way to warm up her voice. It wasn't going to be enough for an amazing sound, but it would suffice. For once, she didn't give a damn about what the audience thought about her.

A few years ago, if she had been asked what she would do on her final night if the world were to end the next day, she would have proudly said she would sing. She would sing to the rafters and give the performance of her life. One last song to sing, and she would go down in a blaze of glory. The crowd would go wild, and those who weren't left dumbstruck by what she had just done would have stood up and called her name over and over.

_Rachel! Rachel! Rachel Stein!_

Rachel? Oh, God…

A few years ago she would have gone out in style, but now all she really wanted to do was lay down and let it just happen. The harshness of the past few years had rubbed off the glitter of her past life like a rough cloth. Her mind was aching, her body was battered and weak, and her heart felt like it had left her body entirely. This was what it felt like to just exist and no more. There would be no blaze of glory. The glory would belong to the Basterds. The martyrs. After all, they were the ones actually going to do this. She was just a tool, destined to merely be a fly in the ointment for the Nazis.

It seemed strange not to care what the audience thought. Her life had been all about performing. She was not ashamed to admit she had loved being the centre of attention all her life. A show-off a heart, she knew. But then again, now her performance had taken over her life. She had become an actress. Every breath and step belonged to this Ellis de Vries woman, not her. Fate loved to be ironic. What she had loved had consumed her fully now, and she had lived in pain and fear because of it. It just seemed like a bad dream.

But she needed to gather herself now. At most, she had five minutes before her time would come. She continued to hum whatever scales could remember, whilst gazing at her face in the mirror. Her hair was perfect, and disguised any mark or injury to her head. Her face was technically fine also, although it still didn't look quite right close up, swollen slightly and hidden under far too much make up. Her eyes were dead. No matter how she tried to smile or waken them up, they remained lifeless. She looked like some sort of bizarre doll, although not one any right-minded child would want to play with.

_Oh, I don't care. Goodbye face, goodbye hair, goodbye eyes. I don't care._

Weariness hit her again. How on earth would she find the strength to do this?

_Now, turn that frown upside down_

_You're quite a girl, my girl._

She startled herself. That song. Why had it entered her head now? As if from nowhere the echo had come and invaded her thoughts.

_Blue eyes and blues skies see rain_

_And tomorrow is just yesterday again._

She remembered that song so well. An awful song by all means, but her father had always sung it. He couldn't sing to save his life, but any time she let her temper get the better of her, or sulked at not getting her way, he had sung it just to tease her. What a strange memory to come to her now.

_A little light is brighter in the night_

_So don't waste time not feeling all right._

What terrible lyrics! Oh, and how he'd sing them just loud enough for her to hear them with that smirk on his face, letting her know that she was acting her shoe size and not her age. He would always wink afterwards as well. It had irritated her no end.

Now she remembered one day he had been the one to get annoyed. The usually calm and collected Mr Stein had just had a run in with the milkman, who was absolutely adamant that the Steins had not paid their milk money in two months. Her father had been absolutely fuming with rage, red-faced and talking at a fast pace, angrily detailing the events to his family at the dinner table. Then she got her revenge.

Standing up calmly, Rachel Stein looked her father right in the eye, taken a deep breath and promptly burst into the song. She sang it so loud that it was more of a yell, and she grinned wickedly from ear to ear. Revenge was sweet. Her brother, Max, nearly choked on his carrots, trying not to laugh, while her mother couldn't help but laugh her strange, silent laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks. Mr Stein just looked utterly gobsmacked at his daughter as she finished the verse. Finished, she gave her family a look of triumph.

Mr Stein said nothing. He merely stood up and looked at his daughter, his stoic face giving nothing away. And then, just as she began to wonder if she had pushed him at the wrong time, he burst out into the second verse of the song, twice as loud and tuneless as she had been. She crumpled to the floor, convulsing with laughter, unable to control herself. Her brother gripped his stomach, aching with laughter, and her mother looked as though she was about to die of laughing. It was one of those strange moments, where looking back it would be hard to see why it had been so funny. But she giggled now to herself at the memory.

What a stupid thing to remember. What a wonderful, stupid thing to remember.

"Fraulein de Vries?" came a voice from outside. "Performance is in two minutes, please head to the stage."

Looking back up at the mirror, she appeared to be more awake. More alive. She heard his voice again, this time quieter.

_You're quite a girl, my girl._

She got up and left silently, replaying the song in her head once more. Walking down the hallway, she moved as though in a dream, not seeing or feeling anything outside of her own mind. There was a lightness now, maybe from delirium, or maybe she had finally gone mad? The next thing she knew, she was waiting in the wings to go on. The moment was here. It was right now. She wasn't dead yet, and it was time to stop acting like she was.

_A little light is brighter in the night_

Far away from the glitz and the glamour of the premiere, the Gard du Nord train station was practically empty. Few people travelled so late in the evening, and these days hardly anyone was allowed to travel out of the country anyway, and so the station was all but deathly still. A few porters and German guards pottered about, and there were a few other passengers on platform 8, but chiefly there was absolute stillness all around.

Ronnie sat on her suitcase, her eyes puffy and red from crying. In her life with Franken she had been given a lot, but now she had left him all she had managed to gather up was just enough pride to cast most of these things aside, and take only what she really needed, or what had always been hers. She still had some of the jewellery though, knowing she would need to pawn something in order to start anew. This small suitcase now contained everything she owned the world. It was an oddly freeing thought.

The deed was done. Franken had arrived home to their quarters to find Ronnie dressed in travelling clothes, instead of the dress he had picked out for her to wear to the premiere. Her suitcase in hand, she informed him that she was sick and tired of Paris and of him. She wanted to go home and that was that.

At first he hadn't taken her seriously. It was just one of her jokes or funny moods, but when she did not laugh and he saw in her eyes that she meant it, he hadn't liked it. He cursed at her, calling her nothing but a stupid slut and a whore. She was just some filthy, Dutch simpleton who he had always known would never rise up to the level of a proper German woman. His face had gone pink with rage as he spat and raved at her, but Ronnie knew she had to strong. She stood there shaking, and took the abuse, knowing that no matter what she was leaving here, and she would be free again. She was saving her life, along with her dignity and her soul. He never even seen the sharp letter opener she concealed up the sleeve of her coat, just in case he used force against her. She would kill him if she had to. Nothing would stop her leaving.

Once his torrent of abuse was done, and his angry energy spent, the still composed Ronnie informed him once again that she was leaving, and she would not be coming back. As a Dutch citizen she would be entitled to return home without too much trouble, and working at the Reich headquarters meant that her papers were routinely put in order every few weeks. If he tried to hinder her exit, or prevent her from leaving the country, she told him in a clear calm voice that she would make him pay. She had gotten to know a great deal, and had made some important friendly acquaintances thanks to Franken, and she would do whatever she needed to leave. This was goodbye.

"Now, Ronnie," he had tried, somewhat gentler. "You're being silly. Put the suitcase down and get ready. We have a party to get to. If you still want to leave tomorrow, you're free to do as you wish. We've already RSVP'ed."

"No Günther," she told him flat. "Its over. Go to your premiere alone. I'm leaving."

"Please, sweetheart," his voice was pleading, and sickeningly sweet. "What about all of the fun we've had? You'll end it all like this?"

She didn't reply. She merely stepped past him with her case and walked towards the door, turning only at the last moment to see if he would try to stop her. He was just standing there, looking gobsmacked. She almost felt sorry him, his expression so lost, so confused. But no, even at his most vulnerable, Franken had come to sicken her to her stomach. She had lived with this man. Shared a bed with this man, and the thought of that now disgusted her. He had made her hate herself.

No, that wasn't fair. He had enough crimes to pay for as it was. This was Ronnie's crime. The crime of blissful ignorance. She hated herself because of what she had become. But not anymore. Ellis had told her she had the chance to change, to become more. If she left now she would not die a monstrous woman, she could still atone for all she had done. She could set things right at last.

She said nothing else. She left and did not look back.

It was dangerous for her to go out alone. Apart from the typical dangers of wandering darkened streets alone, there was the added danger of being recognised as a German's woman by someone. There would be no mercy then. But she walked with purpose, looking straight ahead always, and as was often the case with such blatant defiance, she was barely noticed by anyone she passed. Conspicuous enough to be inconspicuous.

Once inside the train station and on the platform, she finally sat down on her case and buried her face in her hands, sobbing in fear, in pain and in relief. God knows what the future had in store for her. It could easily be worse than what she faced now, but she knew she had no choice but to face it. She had to. She needed to be brave, unlike the coward she had been for so long.

The tears eventually stopped, and she was left with an aching head. The minutes stretched longer and longer. She would be waiting a long time for this train, but it would come eventually and she would go home.

Her mind gradually drifted back to Ellis.

It was strange. She had considered Ellis one of the few real friends she had in this world, and yet she knew nothing about her. She understood that Ellis couldn't tell her, after all, she wouldn't be a very good spy if she did. But she had never even had an inkling that anything was different about her. Maybe that said more about Ronnie than it did Ellis though.

She must have looked at Ronnie in disgust in all the time they had known each other. Just some stupid whore. And yet, Ellis had told her leave; warned her to run away and save herself, risking everything in doing so. For all she knew Ronnie could have run all the way to Franken and told him everything. The faith she had in Ronnie was completely unjustified, and probably dangerous, and yet she had wanted to help her.

She had put everything on the line just to save Ronnie.

Something in Ronnie's stomach turned uncomfortably. Her limbs felt heavy, and yet weak. For all she knew Ellis' plan was already in full-steam, or, and she dreaded to think it, maybe she had already been caught. If she got caught she was dead. No ifs or buts; she would die. Her brave friend was risking everything, but it may already too late.

No. No, it couldn't be. She wouldn't fail. She couldn't fail. Anyone who had ever met her would know that. There was something about Ellis de Vries. A strength? Maybe. Or perhaps it was something you couldn't quite put your finger on. Ronnie had a hard time imagining Ellis failing at anything she set her mind to. But she was just one woman against an entire wicked world.

Without even realising she had done it, Ronnie was on her feet, filled with a surge of something she couldn't describe. She couldn't stay here. She wouldn't stay here. She was not going to run away, and leave Ellis to die here. She was already frightened, what did it matter if this scared her any more? God knows what she might do, or what might happen, but she couldn't leave now. All she knew was that the premiere was everything tonight, to Ellis and to the Germans. She would get Ellis out of there. She didn't know how, but she would do it.

Completely forgetting the suitcase and all her worldly possessions, Ronnie ran. She ran as fast as she could right out of the station and into the dark streets of Paris once more. She remembered where the cinema was and instinctively headed in that direction. This was probably the stupidest idea she had ever had, and would likely get her killed, but she could no longer sit idly by and forsake her friend. There was no plan, just all her good intentions.

Hans Landa observed the busy scene before him from the second floor landing, leaning casually on the railing. All the usual rich idiots were here, clamouring for favour and revelling in their own self-importance. Herr Schütz was drunk on just his second glass of champagne as usual. Frau von Bielenberg was already laughing with that insane cackle of hers. And as he couldn't see Frau Hoffmann anywhere, he presumed she was already crying in the bathrooms, as usual. Ellis de Vries had taken the stage not so long ago, and despite a rough start and a somewhat stilted reception from the audience, she had warmed up quite nicely and was singing with all the conviction she needed. He had received quite a few compliments on his pretty young find.

But in amongst this crowd there was one group who did not fit in. They weren't laughing, or mingling, or even drinking. They probably thought they were being inconspicuous, but this just made them appear even more out of place.

"Hermann," Landa called out, aware that his aide would be nearby somewhere, ready as usual to serve his master.

"Sir?" Sure enough, Hermann appeared, reliable as ever.

"Is Franken here yet?" Landa asked him, his eyes never leaving the crowded reception area.

"Yes, sir," Hermann dutifully replied.

"Fetch him for me," Landa ordered, his smirk becoming broader. "I have a little job for him."

"Yes, sir… But I should say, he has had a bit to drink."

"Excellent," Landa beamed, much to Hermann's confusion. "That shall help immensely."

"As you say, sir," Hermann sheepishly replied, deciding to just do as he was told. Who knew what went on in the brilliant and strange mind of his commanding officer, but one thing Hermann had learned was never to question it. Whatever it was, it was working for Landa, and the Reich, so who was he to doubt it? He left quickly and quietly to pull a disgruntled Franken from the bar.

Landa continued his surveillance of the scene below. There were also many very important people here tonight, not just the leeches. Goebbels of course, but also Goering and Bormann. And the Führer himself would be here soon enough. Important men, all. It would be most unfortunate if anything were to happen to them, especially since they were all in this one place tonight. And if only Himmler were here also, that would make it even more tragic.

_Better make sure nothing happens, Hans. What would we do without such men?_

He grinned to himself.

Looking down at his watch, he saw that he still had a little while to wait before Fraulein de Vries finished her performance, something he had been looking forward to the whole day. But there was so much to do, and he could no longer spend the time idling here.

"Sir?" came Hermann's all too familiar voice from behind him. "I've brought you F…"

"What do you want now, Hans?" Franken irritated slur interrupted Hermann's more polite tone.

"Pleasant as always, Günther," Landa turned around for the first time, still smiling the same genial smile he always wore, and which terrified nearly everyone he used it upon. "I have business to discuss with you. Don't worry, I think you'll enjoy it. Please, let's take this to my office."

He moved past the two men, and began to walk down the hallway. They followed him, making sure not to walk too near to him. Franken didn't like the sound of any of this. It was already bad enough Ronnie, that bitch, had left him only an hour ago, he really didn't need to put up with any of Landa's indulgent mind games. For someone so smart, he could be so damn awkward.

"What is this all about?" Franken wasted no time asking once they were both inside the office, Hermann remaining dutifully outside.

"So rude, Günther," Landa remarked, sitting down, his faux-friendly tone gone now. "I have a job for you."

"Well, what is it?"

"Patience, please," Hans warned him. "First off, I have a few questions for you."

Franken didn't respond. He had never been interrogated by Landa before, but he had heard about it. He wasn't sure what to expect. Landa always got his answers.

"There have been rumours, Günther," Landa began, his tone becoming more official. "The disappearances of wealthy Jews, and their money."

Franken froze inside. How could he know? How could anyone know? No, he couldn't possibly. He was trying to trick him. Had someone told him about the 'Evacuations' Franken had been carrying out for years? Who possibly? He had only chosen people he could trust, and the men who pretended to be the helpful Resistance fighters to the stupid Jews were just as guilty as him. Ronnie was too thick to have figured it out too.

"This have persistently followed you, in the Netherlands and now here in France too," Landa continued. "There are some who would say that you had laid a little trap for this Jews, as it were. Deceived them, with some help of course, murdered them and then took their possessions, an act that I might remind you is illegal as all confiscated property, Jewish or not, belongs solely to the Reich."

Franken still did not respond. All he could do was act like he was not totally panicked inside.

"Now, while I enjoy rumour as much as the next man," Landa went on, his voice returning to its unsettling friendliness. "I can't do anything unless I can prove the rumours to be true."

He paused there. His eyes stared right into Franken's. He had him exactly where he wanted him. Squirming inside.

"What are you trying to say?" Franken finally asked, determined to appear unflinching to the snake Landa.

"Don't be so annoyed, Günther," he grinned. "I can make all of these rumours go away if you'd like. Forever. I just need a reassurance that you are completely loyal."

"You're questioning my loyalty?"

"Yes," Landa replied harshly.

Franken didn't know what to do or say. Landa had already made up his mind, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him. And yet, he had offered him the chance to make it go away. But what was the price? What would he have to do in order to placate Landa? It made him even more nervous to think of the possibilities.

"Although I am innocent," Franken began, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I am ever ready to prove myself to the Reich."

"Good answer," Landa smiled, reclining in his chair once again.

"What must I do, then?" Franken was losing patience again. He just wanted to get out of this room and away from Landa as quickly as possible.

"Eager, aren't you," Landa teased. "Don't worry, it won't be a hardship for you I should think. I need you to kill Ellis de Vries."

"What?" Franken was absolutely dumbstruck. Had Landa not ignored him before when he had warned him about that conniving woman? Had Landa not been the one who had wrestled her a job away from one of Germany's finest voices? This made no sense. He had probably heard him wrong.

"Ellis de Vries. I need you to kill her," Landa repeated, no longer smiling. "The woman is working for our enemies, and so she must be eliminated."

This was too good to be true. He had planned to kill her anyway, and now it was his orders. This was too… convenient.

"Of course," he merely nodded, not wanting to appear too eager or too reluctant. "I'll carry it out right away."

"Don't be stupid," Landa suddenly sounded irritated, catching Franken off guard, worrying him more. "Everything must appear in order. She will continue performing, and you await my command. Until then, you do nothing."

"Yes, sir," Franken nodded. Landa made no sense at all. The man was clearly unravelling. The pressure had finally gotten to him, and he had snapped. Not that it mattered now. He had given Franken everything he wanted on a silver platter. He would kill Ellis, and then disappear with his ill-gained fortune.

Once Franken had finished listening to instructions, Landa sent him away. Smiling to himself, Landa reflected on his plan. Men like Franken were never more vulnerable than when they thought they were winning.

But there were four very important people waiting for him in the foyer, and he knew it was time to finally attend to them.

"How much longer, Donny?" Raine asked quietly, growing tired of waiting.

"Fifteen minutes, Lieutenant," Donny replied, looking down at the expensive watch Bridget had given him.

"Thank God," Omar breathed. The waiting had only grown more painful, but at least it seemed like it was coming to an end.

"Remember," Bridget warned them for what seemed like the hundredth time. "When we go in there: don't look at anyone, definitely don't talk to anyone and most of all do not attract any attention to yourselves."

It was a fool's hope. She knew that these Americans were incapable of subtlety, but she would die trying to drill it in to them if she had to.

"Yeah, yeah, we know. Keep a low profile," Raine replied sharply, annoyed with Bridget's condescending. "You boys remember where you're sitting?"

"Yes, sir," Omar whispered. "We're sitting in the back row."

"Good. The Kraut Frau and me will be smack bang in the middle. I start the trouble, and you boys head up to old Adolf. You got that?"

"Yessir," the replied in unison.

"And you?" he turned to the actress.

"I lock the doors," she replied, no hint of feeling in her voice.

"Sounds like we're good to go then."

Ellis sang on, keeping her act up while still observing the room around her. There were so many people here, and so many guards, and several of the faces were people she had seen in news reports and in newspapers. She shuddered to think about these men; these evil creatures drinking champagne tonight.

Her voice had been rough to start with, a result of her weakened state and her unwillingness to warm up properly. She had been given a few sceptical looks from the audience, particularly from some the snider looking women, but now she was into it and she was sounding surprisingly as good as she ever had. The snide looking women looked even snider, but at least now it was out of some sort of envy. The songs she was singing were boring, but crowd pleasing, and it didn't require much effort on her part. Her mind was free to wander a bit and she carefully looked out across the crowd, scanning for any sign of trouble.

Raine, Bridget and the others stood together, but isolated from the rest of the crowd. Mercifully, it seemed that most people were leaving them alone. That was the best she could hope for anyway. The less they engaged, the less chance there was of them being discovered.

But then she spotted him.

He was oiling his way through the crowd like an eel, heading straight for her teammates. She felt her heart beat faster in her chest. There was nothing she could do. She just had to keep singing.

There was nothing she could do.

He had come out of nowhere. Nowhere, it seemed. They were completely unguarded and had nearly blown everything.

It seemed to have all happened so fast.

Hans Landa, the legendary Jew Hunter, had approached Bridget von Hammersmark and her unusual companions. As he prattled on to the nervous actress, all Raine, Donny and Omar could do was stand there and try to look calm, all while panicking within. When he gestured to her injured leg, Donny had caught his breath, knowing Bridget would remember what to say, but still afraid she might mess it up somehow. She laughed it off casually, but Donny could see from her expression that she knew Landa didn't buy it at all. They were in big trouble.

Then the real trouble started. Bridget introduced her Italian companions, and they had smiled and tried to look polite, with the exception of Raine. Then he had begun speaking to them in perfectly accented, fast flowing Italian. Donny wondered how apparent the horror on their faces was, but he tried to look confident. He knew very basic Italian, but he caught nothing of what the Nazi said. Raine fared slightly better, catching just enough to respond a little.

Landa toyed with them, obviously knowing that they were imposters. He made them recite their 'names' over and over again. Raine didn't even bother trying to hide his accent, while Donny tried too hard to conceal it. To everyone's surprise, Omar recited his perfectly, sounding genuinely Italian. Bridget looked pained throughout, nervous beyond belief.

Then he took their tickets. Inspecting them, as the head of security was perfectly entitled to do, before returning the tickets to their rightful owners. There was just one problem: they were given the wrong tickets. Donny and Omar were hurried along into the cinema holding Bridget and Raine's central tickets, instead of their tickets for the back row. This was a very large spanner, and it was now firmly lodged in their plans.

What the Hell were they going to do now?

And there we have it! A very tough little chap to write. Apologies for skimming over the Italian scene with Landa, but I figured that since its such a funny scene, and we're all probably still very familiar with it, that me trying to do it would just be sort of crap. I hope you don't mind:( Also, there is a lack of Shoshanna in this chapter too, but this is to do with the fact that its so muddled and filled with characters, that adding her in would just make it MORE convoluted. She'll be back, though. Don't you worry.

Again, forgive me my tardiness. I love and appreciate all the nice things you've been saying, and have been very intrigued by some of your comments. You have given me some very radical inspiration...

Thanks guys!


	33. Paris is Burning

Look! I'm updating! I know, I can't believe it either!

**Important Notice: **This chapter is a series of vignettes helping to move the story along and tie everything up. They are set at **different times **from each other. None of this is in chronological order, purely because I wanted this to have a proper vignette style that's slightly disorientated before all coming together. The Ronnie and Akkerman's stories are set much later in the evening, and Utivich's happens very early on in the evening. The Shoshanna, Bridget & Raine, and Donny & Omar story lines are almost simultaneous, while Ellis' is shortly afterwards. I hope that clears it up.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, except your mom!

Utivich waited anxiously alone on the truck. They had been gone a long time now, and there was nothing left for him to do. His orders were to stay put and keep his eyes peeled. If he saw anything he didn't like the look of he had to stop it, or if it would be obviously impossible to stop, to return to the others and let them know the mission was a failure and they had to get out while they still could. It wasn't his ideal situation; but those were the breaks.

He had always been a worrier. Anyone who had known him growing up would have laughed at the prospect of him in the army, let alone a renegade group of guerrilla fighters. He was always so careful and thoughtful; it just didn't seem like him at all. But, as he often reminded himself: although he was a worrier, he was no coward. That was the reason he was doing all of this. But being a worrier meant that his nerves were constantly fried in this place, and now he was almost at his wit's end. All he could do was stare into the semi-darkness for any sign of danger, fidgeting anxiously and chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip.

Raine, Donny and Omar weren't getting out. He knew this. He accepted this. Ellis and the actress probably also wouldn't make it out amid whatever chaos ensued, but if they ran fast and hard enough before it all went down, maybe they could. Even though he didn't really like Bridget he worried about her too. There weren't too many German's doing what she was doing after all, and God knows it couldn't be easy. Hell, even if she did make it out she was losing a leg anyway. But if any German could make it out of there, he hoped it was Bridget von Hammersmark. And as for Ellis, all he could do was hope she would wake up and seize her chance to live. He understood she didn't feel much like going on anymore, but damn, he wanted her to. If anyone deserved a second chance in life, it was her. Everything had been taken away from her. If this war could end tonight, she deserved to have a clean slate, something to build a new life on.

He supposed he just wanted her to be happy. He felt sad just thinking about her.

Nothing moved in the half-light outside. It was completely still and silent. The gas lamps that lined some of the surrounding streets only sent a small amount of light into this side street. None of the windows circling above Utivich and the truck showed any sign of life; no candles lit, no sounds of inhabitants, not even the smell of evening meals been made or consumed. It wasn't so strange, he thought. After all, the curfews employed by the Nazis were fiercely strict, and rationing had severely restricted whatever cuisines the Parisians had enjoyed in previous years. This was also a rather poor neighbourhood, probably mostly filled with older people, and drunken men who claimed to be poets or writers.

_Or maybe everyone was just too scared?_

Pondering this, a sound echoed outside. A dull thump, which seemed to resound unnaturally in the quiet street. Utivich froze. Amidst all the silence, the noise had sounded so ominous.

But had he need to worry? It wasn't the sound of a gun being cocked, or even of footsteps or voices. Was it really cause for concern? Perhaps someone had merely opened a window, or maybe a cat had jumped on the lid of dustbin? Thinking carefully on the sound, which had occurred only a moment or so ago, Utivich decided to himself that one slight noise did not indicate a threat; he had merely been startled by it. His nerves were just getting the better of him.

He settled back down into his seat, keeping as vigilant as ever. He tried not to think about the sound again. He needed to be concentrated. He needed to be focused. He was not about to 'wuss out'. No, not when there was so much at stake.

Ronnie stopped running after what had seemed like an eternity. Her body had finally had enough and demanded she take a breather. She bent over, her hands on her knees, and took gasping breaths. She spluttered as her lungs burned from the inside, and her heart pounded like a hammer in her ear. Every gulp of air hurt. She had run surprisingly far, surprisingly fast. The cinema would not be very far away now, perhaps only a few short minutes if she could run like that again. Her hands shook with tiredness, and her legs felt so unsteady that she had to sit down. Blood was pumping hard through every vein in her limbs; she could feel it. It was incredible how the adrenaline of that one single moment of clarity had carried her for so long, but ultimately her body could only do so much in one go.

But she couldn't stop. She was so close, and yet so far from where she needed to be. It may already be too late, but she had to keep telling herself that Ellis was still all right. Ronnie was no hero, and she had no illusions about ever being one, but this compulsion to run to the rescue, to help in any way she could, overpowered her. She had to keep going.

After several minutes of rasping, she began to regain her senses. She remembered she was on a public street, anyone could be watching her, French, German, whatever. Gradually she woke up again to the sights and sounds surrounding her. But it was the smell that hit her first.

Smoke. There was smoke coming from somewhere. Looking around she couldn't see exactly where, but when she looked up she saw that it lingered above the buildings surrounding her. Not so far away a building was on fire. No, not a building. Buildings. The smoke came from several directions, gathering above the street where she rested, the dark plumes entwining, joining together to form an ominous black cloud.

Then her ears awoke. Not so far away, she heard voices. In the next street, she realised. They were shouting.

_Pour la France!_

_Vive la Résistance! _

There was screaming too. Terror, panic, confusion. The intention behind every noise hurtled into her ears. Sirens, gunshots, cries of pain.

The Parisians had finally risen up. The Resistance were seizing their chance and attacking the Hun while he was distracted and vulnerable. Ordinary citizens of Paris were joining them. She had once heard some French bourgeois collaborator smugly proclaim that the French enjoyed being miserable purely so they could eventually rise up and have another revolution. Well, from the sounds of it, the Revolution was here. She was lucky to not have run right into the centre of the fray. But how long would that last? Riots didn't stay still, and this one was already only a street or so away. She needed to get out of here fast.

Still feeling unsteady on her feet, and her lungs still burning painfully, Ronnie stood up, calling on all of her strength. Clenching her hands and gritting her teeth she willed herself on, and she ran.

She ran because both her life, and Ellis', depended on it now.

Marcel had just left the room, and Shoshanna suddenly felt very, very alone.

They had gone over the plan so many times, but this was it. He would seal all the doors in a while and ensure no one could escape once their special film had been premiered in place of _Stolz der Nation. _She would never see him again.

But she had no time to dwell on that now, no matter how heavy her heart was. She had a job to do, and the smoother things ran during the first two reels, the bigger the surprise would be when the third came along.

Hans Akkermans moved quickly and silently. He wove his way seamlessly through the mulling hordes of people. Some were trying to run towards the line of fire, desperate to kill Germans, others ran to try and escape, mothers with children, frightened old people, learned and wealthy people. Others were taking advantage of the situation, as in all such things, and were leaving shops and apartment blocks, their arms laden with stolen goods. No one ran in the same direction as another, there was too much confusion. Where was the fight? Which way to safety? Where to go now?

It was chaos, but that suited Hans just fine.

He had managed to get vague directions to the cinema, but he knew he just had to head where the crowds would not. The attack was focused on the weakened German operations, whose security had been lessened in favour of beefing up security at the premiere. The Resistance would not be stupid enough to hit where the real muscle was. And anyone trying to escape, or loot, wouldn't be stupid enough to venture where the Germans were having their little party either. No, people would be trying to escape Paris, head to the outskirts. Hans needed to get to the centre.

The crowd was becoming denser and denser. He could no longer just weave in and out of it. He had to manoeuvre and elbow his way through an ever-thickening throng of people. He grunted in frustration as a surge in the crowd sent him in the opposite direction he needed to head in. It was like trying to swim against the flow of a river. He tried to be more aggressive, pushing and shoving with all his might. It was no good. He needed to get to the edge of the crowd if he wanted to stand a chance of getting anywhere.

Fighting hard, and fighting dirty, he managed to slowly edge his way towards the edge of the massive crowd. When he finally managed to reach the side of a building, he sighed in relief. For a moment he let himself enjoy a brief repose, the heavy pressure of hundreds of people no longer upon him. But he needed to get to that cinema. Ellis still had that book, and if he didn't get to her now, he may never manage to find her again. Looking dead ahead, Hans began to move again, keeping close to the buildings, aware he had to keep on the wings.

He managed to get about ten yards before a shout rang out, managing to soar above the crowd. Some kind of warning? He couldn't understand a damn word these French were saying.

The reaction in the crowd was immediate. Scream and cries pierced the air, and people began to really try to run; this time in the same direction, like sheep. Concern hit Hans. Why were they running? What was happening? He tried to see what they were running from, but it was too late. Several metres away an explosion burst from the side of the large post office building, light and a deafening roar of sounds erupting before him. The air pressure hit him before any debris could, in the chest it seemed, throwing him backwards, arms flailing like a rag doll. He had no idea what happened next. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Another noise. The same noise again actually.

This time Utivich sat up straight. This wasn't right. Something was up, and he needed to figure out what before something happened. Where had it come from? Behind? In front? Above? He couldn't make a move until he was absolutely sure. In his right hand, his gun was already cocked, ready for anything that might spring out of the dark. But he couldn't be hasty. He couldn't mess this up.

Up ahead a light flickered in the alleyway that led to the main street of the area. A man had just lit his cigarette. No, not just any man. A German. Utivich only saw his silhouette, but he could tell from the long coat, and the officer's cap that this was very much a Nazi. He was just far enough away for Utivich to slip out of the vehicle's door without drawing attention to himself, his gun pressed to his side, ready more than ever. This guy was not even going to know what hit him.

He needed to get closer though. Shooting in this enclosed place would only create a magnified sound that would send more Germans running. He carefully uncocked the gun, and placed it back in his holster. He would have to get closer to the man and use his knife; a more unpleasant option, but the only one he had left. Slipping the knife from its hiding place in his trouser leg, he cautiously concealed it within his sleeve, ready to attack. He began to move forward.

He didn't get very far before he felt a hard sharp blow to the back of his head. At first he thought he'd been shot, before he landed on the ground, stunned. He blinked his eyes, unable to see for a few seconds before he realised he was in fact okay, and tried to pull himself up again. A set of hands from behind him grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backwards before he had time to gather himself, one arm being wrapped his throat, while another set of hands restrained his hands with handcuffs.

"Son of a bitch!" was all he could splutter as he felt the arm around his throat restrict his breathing.

"That's enough, soldier," an accented voice purred in English from somewhere nearby. "The poor boy can't breath."

The arm loosened slightly, allowing more air into Utivich's lungs. He gasped in relief. Looking up, he tried to make out where the voice was coming from. Standing before him, in the most immaculately clean and crisp uniform was a man who was very familiar, but whom Utivich couldn't quite place.

Then it came to him suddenly. There was only one person this could be. He was screwed.

"Landa, I presume," Utivich rasped, trying not show his horror. He was not going to give this prick any satisfaction.

The man merely nodded, smirking. "And you must be Smithson Utivich."

Utivich didn't care how this man had discerned his name. He was the most infamous detective in the Reich, and even known to the Allies; learning peoples' name couldn't be all that difficult for him. Utivich gave no reply. He matched Landa's smirk with an unwavering glare.

"I know you are Smithson Utivich," Landa began. "Because Lieutenant Aldo Raine, Private Donald Donowitz and Private Omar Ulmer are all busy attending a film premiere, as you know. Hugo Stiglitz and Wilhelm Wicki unfortunately are no longer with us thanks to last night's antics. And Privates Kagan, Hirschberg, Sakowitz and Zimmermann have all unfortunately been killed recently in the line of duty. Leaving only one unaccounted for: You."

"What?" Utivich stammered. Kagan, Sakowitz, Hirschberg and Zimmerman? Dead? How? This couldn't be happening.

"Yes," Landa shrugged casually. "Very sudden, I'm afraid. If my watch is correct, fifteen minutes ago, in fact. Seems they had the strange idea to hide in a woman's apartment."

Utivich felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. There was no more strength to glare or match Landa.

Landa merely gave a nod to whatever lackeys were restraining the young American. The last thing Utivich saw before the bag covered his head and block his view was that infuriating grin on Landa's face.

"Miss de Vries?" a voice came from the other side of the dressing room door. She had barely had a moment to sit down yet as it was, who was calling on her now? She knew she had to get out as fast as she could. She needed to get in Landa's way as fast as possible. It wouldn't be long before everyone would be inside the auditorium and the film begun. She needed to get moving, she didn't have time for whoever was on the other end of this door.

"What is it?" she snapped back, making sure whoever it was had no illusions about her having time for him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, miss de Vries," the voice came again. "But the head of Security says he needs to see you right away."

The head of security? Landa. He was calling her. Well, that certainly saved her some trouble. But she felt uneasy. Did he want to congratulate her, or interrogate her? Knowing Landa, it could even be a little bit of both. She knew what she needed to do, but this summoning for her seemed to be a little too convenient now.

This couldn't be good.

"What does he want?" she called, trying to conceal her concern by remaining annoyed.

"No, miss," the voice replied. "He just asked that you come right away."

She hesitated. Was there a choice? No, she had to do this, even if she did walk right into a trap. All that mattered was that Raine and the other carry out their mission. Now it was her turn to step up to the plate.

Donny and Omar sat down sheepishly in their new seats. They were completely and utterly surrounded by Germans. What the hell were they going to do now? Raine and von Hammersmark were nowhere to be seen, and for all they knew they could be dead already.

Donny knew he had to think on his feet here. The plan was dead, so they needed a new one, dependant on only two people this time. He wasn't as smart as Utivich, or had the same brilliant instincts as Raine, but he was no moron. Whatever happened tonight, he was going to take some Nazis out, even if missed his shot at the big guys he was still going to take as many Krauts out with him as possible.

But how on Earth was he supposed to think, surrounded by hundreds of Germans, not to mention some of the strictest security he had ever seen? He could feel the sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He had psyched himself up for this mission and yet it seemed that just one thing after another just kept going wrong. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be?

_It was meant to be, _he reminded himself. _It's meant to be because I fucking decided it was. It's my damn life. _

No, he didn't believe in fate or destiny. He believed he was right here, right now and that was all that mattered. One way or another he was going out with a bang. But he and Omar needed to be able to talk at least, and they definitely couldn't do that here. No one seemed to pay particular attention to them, but if anyone overhead them speak in English they would be dead meat before they even got the chance to do anything. Looking over at Omar, he saw that his friend was already glancing nervously around at the mass of fancy guests surrounding them. They needed to go somewhere and rethink the strategy. But where? The bathroom? Well, it was as good a place as any at this stage.

The lights dimmed suddenly, and the chattering German voices became hushed murmurs of excitement and anticipation. The film was about to start.

_Crap, _was all Donny could think to himself. However they might have slipped out as the audience took their seats, it would be a hundred times more noticeable during the film. They would have to wait. As dangerous as it was, it was better to wait for a little while at least. Once the movie had been playing for a little while, a bathroom break would be a lot less suspicious.

"Frau von Hammersmark," Landa enquired gently as soon as Omar and Donny had been ushered off to take their new seats. "May have a word with you in private? Very briefly. Just in my office."

"Yes, of course," she agreed.

This is was bad. Very, very bad. But she had to be compliant; otherwise everything might be further disrupted. Everyone was beginning to enter the auditorium now, and Ellis was nowhere to be seen at all. She could be the only one to distract Landa now. If Raine was smart he could get the party started as soon as Landa was out of sight. She had no choice but to go with Landa.

"Scusi," she told Raine, fixing him a look. She tried to convey everything she could with that one little look, hoping he would understand something.

Raine understood. The plan was already messed up; Bridget was going to take one for the team. If Landa wasn't paying attention to Raine he still had a shot of doing something. He would stay, and formulate a new plan.

Landa led the actress away, limping carefully alongside him.

_Right, _Raine thought to himself. _What the fuck am I gonna do now?_

He couldn't see a thing, but Utivich knew that he had been thrown into the back of the same truck he was supposed to be guarding. How could he have been so stupid? He should have known it was fake-out and yet he had still fallen for it. So much for being the clever one.

But that wasn't the worst of it, not by any means. Landa had known where he was and exactly who he was. He also knew about Raine, Donny and Omar, and more than likely he knew about the women also. Operation Kino was through. They had all failed.

The others. His friends were dead. The men he had spent months and months working with and living beside, who had become like the big brothers this only child had never had, were all dead. Just gone… just like that. It was too awful to even imagine. First Wicki, and now Zimmerman, Kagan, Sakowitz and Hirschberg. They had been Ellis' apartment. That meant he definitely knew about her involvement. How could this have happened?

The woman at Ellis' door? The Dutch girl who sounded upset. It had to have been her. Had Ellis spilled the beans then? Did she betray them? No, he refused to believe that. He knew she wouldn't have done that; he just knew it. The woman must have figured out something was up and ratted Ellis out to the Nazis she worked for.

None of them were getting out of this then. Not Ellis, not Raine, not Donny, not even Utivich himself. He had been caught and Lord only knows what Landa was going to do to him.

Utivich suddenly remembered something Landa had said.

_Hugo Stiglitz and Wilhelm Wicki unfortunately are no longer with us thanks to last night's antics._

He assumed both Wicki and Stiglitz had died after the bar fight last night, just as Hicox had. But Stiglitz didn't die. He had been in the apartment with the others, recovering from his injuries. If Landa's men had raided the apartment they should have found him too and killed him along with others. But Landa thought Stiglitz was already dead. That could only mean one thing.

Stiglitz hadn't been in the line of fire when the others were attacked. He had not been in the apartment. That meant there was a very good chance he was still alive. Alive and out there somewhere.

Utivich should have felt angry that Stiglitz had left his post, but the prospect of him still being alive sent a surge of hope right through his body. He was out there somewhere, and knowing Stiglitz, he was headed right to where the action was. Even injured, Utivich could imagine that Hugo was still a force to be reckoned with.

They weren't out of the game yet.

And there you have it! A very, very fun chapter to write, and it came surprisingly easy. Hopefully I'm getting my groove back:)

Again, I have to emphasise that these vignettes are set at **different times,** so please don't leave a comment telling it didn't make sense or that I'm writing it wrong. I'm not, I'm just doing this for this chapter. There were flashes of it used before, but I'm keeping stuff basically in chronological order from now on.

Thanks for reading, and for lovely comments and reviews. I wish I could review you guys, and your niceness:)


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